


daft pretty girls

by sunastreo



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baseball, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Prom, RomCom-ish, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, background lousim and hinted brophie, bi disaster clem meets lesbian disaster vi in detention, does the tag 'idiots to lovers' apply here, rated T for colourful language & dick jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunastreo/pseuds/sunastreo
Summary: “Violet.”Clementine grins, taking the chalk from Violet’s hand. “Like the flower?”“More like the colour of a bruise.”“That’s the first thing we have in common, then. We’re secondary colours on the colour wheel.”In which Clementine's outspokenness earns her detention, but it's not the end of the world considering she meets an interesting character with too many colourful pins and a brighter smile to match.





	1. a violet disposition

**Author's Note:**

> my heart still hurts @ the last episode so i figured !!! i'd try writing out a lighthearted au with a romcom feel as my first twdg fic before i try a canon one jsjhds in the mean time, i hope u all enjoy! <33
> 
> [p.s. clem and the others are 17-18 (so high school seniors basically) here for the sake of the au !!]

Clementine is _not_ a problem child. 

In fact, she’s got the patience of a saint, cultivated by years of handling AJ’s volatile temper and from teaching him that flying off the handle at every inconvenience was not a socially acceptable reaction, although she was often inclined to question her existence in the world whenever somebody so as stepped on her favourite pair of white sneakers. Plus, Clementine was friends with Louis, for God’s sake, and not even a festering rash can stop him from being annoying. 

Of course, she may be patient, but her tolerance for bigoted asshole teachers with a superiority complex was like her sense of tractability - completely nonexistent.

“I can’t believe you got detention for - “ Louis squints while reading off the crinkled yellow slip, “calling Mr. Mainland a bigoted and racist asshole, who you would unplug his life support to charge your phone, with a horrendous receding hairline who should _also_ go shopping for a new job.” 

Louis looks back at her, gaping in pure awe. “Holy shit, dude. I can’t believe you called out the school’s - no, the _town’s_ \- most hated teacher. You're a fucking legend, Clem, and I thank the universe for making you transfer here. What’d you eat in your breakfast today? A yummy bowl of bravery with a side of absent self-preservation?”

Clementine frowns and takes a large bite out of her sandwich. She was about to speak with her mouth full when Marlon comes over and plucks the slip out of Louis’ hands, raising an eyebrow. “What’s cooking, ugly looking?”

“First off, I know _you_ are, but what am I? Second of all, we’re cooking a mad feast to initiate Clem into delinquent-hood.” 

“Count me in.” Marlon lowly whistles. “I’m impressed, Clem. You insulted him directly _and_ indirectly. That takes great talent, you know?”

Clementine stands up and snatches the slip from Marlon before crumpling it into a ball and shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. “You guys are overreacting. I only did what I thought was right. I mean, just ‘cause Mr. Mainland was an army commander before doesn’t mean he has the right to be a dick. He totally skipped the parts in the textbook that talked about slavery, and that’s just _barely_ touching the surface. Like, what kind of history teacher does that?”

Marlon and Louis exchange a glance, before the latter speaks up, “A balding bigoted and racist one, apparently.”

“Damn right.” 

“Who gets detention on a Friday, anyways?” Louis asks, shaking his head as he finally resumes eating his lunch after temporarily abandoning it in favour of praising Clementine’s backbone. “That’s such a rookie move. You should have at least tore him a new asshole on, like, a Wednesday.”

Clementine rolls her eyes. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Marlon twists open the lid of his container that stored his perogies. “Hey, but don’t you have baseball practice on Fridays?” 

“Yeah. I told Coach I won’t be able to make it today. Let’s just hope detention is only a one time thing. Mr. Mainland isn’t worth my time and effort.” 

“Oh, my darling Clementine,” Louis says sweetly, “ever the mature one out of all of us!” 

Clementine scrunches up her nose at the blatant lie. Even Marlon agrees with her as he makes a disgruntled noise. “Seriously? Are you forgetting the time she called one of the away team’s pitcher the dollar menu version of John Gochnaur for doing an intentional walk? She almost got kicked off the roster, man.”

She swears she’s not a problem child. “What? I wanted a fair win,” Clementine murmurs, pointedly looking at the last portion of her sandwich before putting the entire thing in her mouth. Without any consideration of table decorum, she speaks up, her voice muffled by the food, “I em a pyur and innuhcent angel, you blinesyghted fools.” 

Louis blinks at her in both disbelief and disgust. “No offense, but I am _so_ glad I got over my crush on you.”

Marlon chokes on a perogie and ends up hacking away his lifespan into the crook of his elbow, his face turning completely red, as Louis erupts into hearty laughter and slaps Marlon on the back. Clementine manages to swallow the food in her mouth with success before she laughs with him too.

-

The rest of class go by relatively fast, but so does the word of Ericson High’s esteemed baseball captain being imprisoned in detention for two hours spread like wildfire too. Clementine has no doubt it was Louis’ lack of brain-to-mouth filter that is _especially_ ten times worse when he’s around the person he fancies that no doubt sends him off into a panic. Although Aasim isn’t the type to feed the rumor mill, Louis has the lungs of a singer that enables him to belt out pretty much anything in a loud as fuck voice, with _no_ exceptions regarding secrets and basically anything that doesn't need to be spread.

She’s got Brody, the team’s bubbly shortstop, extending her condolences out of nowhere; Ruby, the team's formidable hitter and also from her biology class, comforting her in an eerily parental manner; Mitch, the manageable asshole on a good day, sending her a sympathetic look - even Lee sent her a message saying that he heard about what happened, calling her a champ, when he worked two hours away from town. So, it was weird. _Really_ weird. Like, a liminal kind of weirdness. 

Clementine doesn’t think it was that much of a big deal, but she supposes it’s because she was the face of a successful team that hasn’t been successful in a long time until she joined, and that maintaining a spotless reputation was expected of her. Coach Javier called that kind of thinking a pain in the ass. Clementine, too, agrees that it was like a hemorrhoid in her asshole. 

And that brings her to detention.

Once she walks into the empty classroom, she finds Mr. Lingard, a bespectacled beanstalk, falling asleep at the desk. He jolts upright at the sight of Clementine. 

“Clementine! A surprise to have you join us,” he says in a nasally voice, taking her crumpled slip. He smooths down his wrinkled dress shirt. “Just a few rules to get you acquainted. First, the hat comes off. Second, don’t even try escaping through the windows. It won’t work. Third, no talking, sleeping, or using any electronic devices.”

Clementine takes the seat by the window, setting her backpack and duffel bag down onto the floor before she takes off her hat. She glances around the classroom that was - well, empty. Maybe Louis _was_ right, after all. Who gets detention right before the weekend? God, Clementine feels like an inadequate pseudo delinquent. “Talk to who? I’m the only one here.” 

As if on cue, the door opens. A girl with her hood on walks in, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, backpack hanging off of one shoulder. Her ripped denim jacket was riddled with colourful pins and embroidered patches that Clementine can't help but admire. But the girl stops in her tracks and meets Clementine’s eyes for a split second before a sour look overwrites her neutral expression. If Clementine wasn’t dreaming, she’s pretty sure she was just given the stink eye for merely breathing. 

“Take your hood off, missy,” Mr. Lingard calls from the front, reclining in his chair, after she dumps the slip onto Mr. Lingard’s table and heads towards the desk that was closest to the door. “Do teenagers these days lack sartorial propriety? Goodness, back in _my_ day - “

Clementine wrinkles her nose at his tangent and casts a glance to the girl who reluctantly snatches her hood off, revealing short blonde hair with an ashy undertone with the tips dyed a fading purple. Clementine wonders if she was a senior too, but if she was, it’s strange that Clementine doesn’t recognize her at all. 

The sky was slowly descending into streaks of warm coral pinks as time escaped. Clementine was balancing a pen on her cupid's bow after losing focus on her chemistry homework, although it seems as though the other girl kept herself busy, hunched over the desk with furious scribbling. Clementine leans back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling and connecting makeshift constellations over the white plaster. It’s only been half an hour. She’s losing her mind. She’d rather be getting dirt in her shorts from sliding around the bases than sit like a statue and ruminate over life. Been there, done that already. 

Clementine glances down at Mr. Lingard, who’d fallen asleep in his chair, mouth hanging open with a litany of snores. The double standards were appalling.

Clementine uses the chance to fish her phone out of her pocket, quickly checking her messages. One from Coach, another from Lee, a spam of cat photos from Louis, and single message from Marlon saying that the pizza parlor he works in is willing to give her a free slice for her ‘gallantry’ towards Larry Mainland. That makes her frown. All she did was call him an asshole with added details like everyone else did. Nobody should be celebrating the fact that Clementine was now Mr. Mainland's main target in history class, which totally sucks.

Sighing, she puts her phone away and plants the side of her face against the desk, listening to the scratching of graphite against paper - the only tune worth listening to aside from Mr. Lingard’s snores. She wonders what AJ is doing right now; probably playing with that Disco Broccoli doll she bought for him from the thrift store. The thought makes her smile. 

She flinches when, all of a sudden, the girl stands up from her seat. Clementine watches with curiosity as she ambles towards the chalkboard, picks up a piece of white chalk, and starts to draw a large, strange shape that Clementine couldn’t distinguish until the girl finishes the circles on top. Then, she draws an arrow that, from afar, looks like it was being pointed right at Mr. Lingard’s opened mouth. 

Something ticklish builds up in the back of Clementine’s throat. She's always been a (decent) good follower of rules when she isn't heated in the middle of a game, but she can't help but blurting out, “Did you just draw a dick?”

The girl turns around and leans a hip against the wall. “Nah. I drew Mr. Linguini over here.”

A laugh sprung from Clementine, tentative and quiet like stones bouncing across a glossy lake, until she had to hold the sound back, making her shoulders hurt and belly ache. The girl stares at her, wide-eyed as though she was stunned at the fact that Clementine was actually laughing, before clearing her throat to the side. “Linguini’s one of those folks who like to assert authority but fucking sucks at it. I once watched a bunch of Vines on full volume and he never woke up at all. I’m bettin’ big bucks that he probably won’t even see this unless the janitor points it out.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Then, she holds the chalk out. “Wanna add somethin’?” 

Clementine considers the invitation with a tilt of her head. She doesn’t thoroughly think it through when she gets up from her desk, making her way to the front. “Wanna tell me your name first? I’m Clementine.”

“Yeah, I know,” the girl says dryly. “Like the fruit, right?”

On one hand, Clementine is annoyed with being mistaken as a fucking fruit. But the main thought monopolizing her mind at the moment was how a lot prettier the girl looks up front than from afar, and Clementine notices that her eyebrow is pierced too. Nice voice _and_ nice face. Since when was that biologically possible? “Hardy har har. _Very_ funny. That’s - wait. You know who I am?”

“Who doesn’t,” she grumbles. “You’re the hotshot captain of the baseball team. Everybody talks about you. _Brody_ never shuts up about you.”

“You’re friends with Brody?”

“Since middle school, yeah.”

Clementine stores the piece of information away; maybe she’ll ask Brody the next time she sees her about her mystery friend. But then she furrows her brows. “I’m not a hotshot.” 

When all she receives is a snort, Clementine frowns. An apology sits at the top of her tongue, although she doesn’t know what she would be apologizing for. Clementine just so happened to luck out on baseball, but it didn’t make her special or anything spectacular. “Well. Just so you know, I didn’t ask to be named after a fruit. So can I have your name now?”

A series of mixed expressions fluctuate across the girl’s face - reluctance, hesitation, _maybe_ a bit of curiosity - all melting into a look of resignation. Then, with a sigh, “Violet.” 

Clementine grins, taking the chalk from Violet’s hand. “Like the flower?”

“More like the colour of a bruise.” 

“That’s the first thing we have in common, then. We’re secondary colours on the colour wheel.” 

Violet shoots her an unimpressed look. Clementine smiles triumphantly as she looks up at the giant dick drawn across the chalkboard. She considers her options on how to embellish such a piece of art before she settles on drawing a pair of glasses over the balls. She tops it off with a bunch of sparkles. 

“With your finesse for detail and my general ability to draw a decent lookin’ dick,” Violet says as she takes the entirety of the drawing in with pride, “we’re basically Picasso.” 

“Guess that means you’re my other half, then,” Clementine quips, then she freezes. “Uh.” 

“Um.” Violet rubs the back of her head, reciprocating the same awkward surprise, although Clementine was seconds away from jumping out the window. But there’s a sheepish tilt to her lips and an amused sparkle in her eyes. “Yeah. Guess so.” 

Clementine blinks at her, feeling her own cheeks slightly warm. She notices that Violet’s eyes are green - sea green, the same shade as the crystalline ocean underneath the angled sunlight, or maybe the same subdued shade as a child's water-colour painting, how in their haste to paint all the grass they add too much water to the green and it comes out diluted. Lost in her thoughts, Clementine barely notices the creak of Mr. Lingard’s chair before his shout startles her into a jump. 

“What is this? What is this?” Mr. Lingard yells, springing up from his seat as he straightens his glasses and ogles at the chalkboard. “Is that a penis wearing glasses?” 

“Shit-sticks,” Violet curses underneath her breath. 

“How lewd! How absolutely lewd and inappropriate. This I would have expected from Violet, but you, Clementine? Preposterous!” Mr. Lingard exclaims with utter disapproval. “You’ve broken all the rules. This earns you two _another_ detention with me on Monday.” 

Clementine blanches. She can’t skip out on another practice. They have an upcoming game against Delta and she can’t afford to have a poor performance. “But - “

“No but’s! I’m done with you troublemakers for the day. Now git!”

They quickly went back to their seats to grab their things before rushing out of the classroom while Mr. Lingard was feverishly erasing the vulgar drawing from the chalkboard. They run down the empty hallway, save for the janitors making their rounds, and as soon as they reach the stairs and slow down, they finally exchange a look before bursting out into laughter.

“Did you see his face? ‘Is that a penis wearing glasses’?” Violet mocks Mr. Lingard’s nasally tone, and scoffs. “That was supposed to be a portrait of him. He could at least be a little bit more grateful. What a total dick.”

Clementine slaps a hand over her mouth, trying to collect her breath in between bouts of laughter. “I think I’m about to die.”

Violet laughs and snorts. They descend down the stairs and step outside of the school, welcomed by the chilly gusts of the evening wind but an overarching sky of orange fading into a deep blue. Clementine checks her phone and finds that baseball practice ends in an hour. Maybe she’d catch up and do some drills to be productive as a way to make up for lost practice. Better than nothing.

At the gates, Violet stops and turns to her, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She looks a little uneasy. “Uh. Hey. I just wanted to apologize for gettin’ you into more shit. Thought it’d be fun to fuck around with him, but I didn’t mean to drag you down with me.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Clementine smiles, squaring her shoulders. “I’m embracing delinquency.” 

Violet snorts and the tension bleeds right out of her. “What were you in there for, anyways?”

“To put it plainly, I basically called Mr. Mainland an incompetent racist asshole who can't do his job right.” 

“ _Seriously_? You’re pretty fuckin’ rad, Clementine.” Violet laughs in disbelief, impressed. “All I did was get busted for vandalizing a bathroom stall. You’re making me look bad.” 

“I’d say getting detention for drawing Mr. Lingard as a dick is pretty rad too, in my opinion.” 

Violet smiles, her eyes crinkling. The goddamn audacity of her _genes_. 

“Well, I guess I’ll be going now.” Violet steps back, smile turning demure. “See you Monday, then.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Clementine watches Violet’s back recede from her sight, the sunset cascading warm light across her figure in the distance. As soon as she turns the corner of the neighborhood, Clementine stands there for another moment of contemplation, wondering if the same warmth of the sky blooming in her chest is that of an illusion.

-

“Violet?”

Clementine slows down to match Brody’s pace during their warm up, feeling the satisfying burn of her calves as they run their third lap. “Yup. She’s your friend, right?”

“Did she really tell you that?” Brody beams, her face melting into that of complete adoration. “You know what? Everyone thinks she’s so _cold_ when she’s just really sweet! Vi’s not like me who’s so out in the open with mushy feelings, and I guess that’s why people think she’s a jerk without actually getting to know her. Like, _c’mon_ folks. Have a bit of kindness in your hearts, will you? Gosh.” She shakes her head. “And Vi - Vi’s, like, really smart, but she skips class a lot. She’s got the whole ‘fuck the education system’ vibe going on, which I mean, is pretty cool, but with that kinda attitude she ain’t ever gonna graduate. Jeez, am I sounding too much like a mom? She says I sound a lot like a mom. I think I’d be a great mom, though.”

“She’s a senior too, then,” Clementine says thoughtfully, and is grateful that she didn’t have to pry a lot in order to get a supply of information from Brody about Violet. “I’ve never seen her around before and I pretty much recognize all of the graduating students of our grade, you know.”

“Well, she doesn’t come to school a lot, remember? When she does, it’s usually to cause trouble. The teachers can be terrible at times, though, so I’d understand why it’s hard for her to sit through a class without wanting to give ‘em a piece of her mind.” Brody perks up. “Maybe you two will get along just fine! You both have a penchant to talk back to teachers, anyways.”

“I guess that’s another thing we have in common then,” Clementine says wryly.

Brody’s smile was full of enthusiasm. “I’m glad to see you two getting along! But why’re you asking so many questions about Vi?”

“Uh. Nothing. Just curious. Thanks, Brody!” 

Brody looks unconvinced and Clementine quickly runs ahead. There was nothing wrong with trying to get to know a new friend. That’s all. 

After warm ups, they start batting practice. The baseball diamonds were usually busier on the weekends at the local park, but the school was generous enough to consistently rent out the venue for them, which somewhat added another layer of pressure for her to do exceptionally well. But Clementine’s got a fortitude made of titanium - she thrives under pressure more than anything. 

As they switch up to throwing drills, Clementine was putting away her bat when Coach Javier approaches her, nursing a large cup of coffee. He was one of the most well-esteemed professional baseball players of the state although he retired at a rather early age of thirty in order to coach. Clementine would say that _he_ was the saving grace of the school’s baseball team than her lucky accuracy for hitting fast pitches. 

“For someone who’s missing out practice on Monday,” he says with a raised brow, “you seem to be filled to the brim with warm fuzzies.”

“I made a friend in detention,” Clementine answers simply, resting the bat over her shoulder. “Nice beard.”

“Thanks. It’s expected to last until the second coming of Jesus,” he quips before he puts a hand on his hip. “Clem, you should bring that friend to practice instead of being confined into a tiny classroom for exercising your student rights. You can totally enforce discipline by playing ball.”

“Tell that to the principal,” Clementine scoffs, walking towards her bag to grab her glove. “He thinks respecting Mr. Mainland is part of my student rights.”

“Well, fuck that guy.”

Another great thing about having Javier as a coach? He was basically a teenager living inside an adult’s body. A downside was that he became an absolute demon during games, but was mostly a semi-angel outside of that. 

“Okay, well,” Javier says, defeated. “At least try to stay out of trouble so you don’t miss out on more practice. We’ve got a week left before Delta’s game.” 

“Aye aye, sir.” Clementine salutes, earning her a fond eye roll before he treks away to check up on her other teammates.

She sets her bat down and slips her hand into the glove. For a moment of clarity, she takes in a deep breath; Clementine glances up at the vast blue sky through the dappled shade of the large trees towering over them, protecting them from melting underneath the bright sunlight that crosshatched burns onto their skin. A slight breeze rushes past her, bringing in the scent of pine.

It was a clear day - the perfect weather to play ball. If Clementine imagines hard enough, maybe she can see the same sky reflected in a pair of green eyes too.

-

On Monday, Clementine spends half of her morning trying to persuade AJ into being a civil elementary student after he expressed his aspirations to be just like her. He was waving his toast around - flinging crumbs all over the place, his eyes wide and bright and beaming as though he solved the puzzle he was losing his marbles over just the other day. With the most displaced innocence, he had exclaimed that he was going to call Ms. Kim, his kindergarten teacher, a skunk because of the single white streak in her black hair.

“AJ, _no_.” Clementine piles a bunch of broccoli onto his plate, beckoning him to eat his food instead of playing with it. “That’s really rude. Remember how if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say it?”

“But you told your teacher that he’s a jerk. Why can’t I do that?”

“For starters, Ms. Kim isn’t a jerk - I think.” Clementine purses her lips. “And do as I say, not as I do. You gotta, like, judge for yourself, you know? You have to follow your gut feeling and do what you think is right.”

“ _My_ gut feeling is telling me to call Ms. Kim a skunk.” 

Clementine gives him an unimpressed look. “Smartass. Go eat your veggies.” 

AJ giggles and does as he’s told, stabbing a broccoli with his fork and putting it into his mouth. “I feel like a giant for eating tiny trees.”

Clementine smiles fondly, bringing a forkful of eggs to her mouth. She listens to his musings and excited rambles about the new friend he made recently, all the while making sure they’re not late for school. Lee was often gone on weekday mornings because of his early commute to work, but he was always home for the late afternoon to pick AJ up from school and to prepare dinner. 

Sometimes, Clementine would wake up and find it difficult to believe that this simple and warm life was hers to have. But she supposes that in this universe of a sun-spotted town with pink lemonade summers, she was allowed to have something good for once. 

 

 

 

At school, Clementine makes a beeline towards Louis where he was busy dancing around to the music playing from the headphones he had on, rummaging for his textbooks through his unorganized mess of a locker. She’s always been rather wary to approach him at his locker. Considering the last time she did so, they found a Daddy Long Legs chilling in between the pages of Louis’ composition book and a half-eaten moldy sandwich collecting flies in the corner. He called it a reputable sanctuary for all things creepy and crawly done out of the goodness of his golden heart; Clementine called it a goddamn pigsty. 

Louis doesn’t seem to notice her presence as she sidles up to him. She jabs a finger to his side, causing him to yell and violently recoil. He rips his headphones off and wraps his arms around his midriff to protect himself, looking completely appalled and stunned - a face that Clementine can’t help but cackle at. 

“You’re a sneaky asshole!” Louis exclaims. “I almost died. You owe me a new fucking heart.”

“If I give you a new heart, will you find the courage to finally ask Aasim out?” Clementine raises a brow.

“I am a man of valor and dignity! Who said I lacked the courage? I can ask him right now if I wanted to. I’m merely waiting for the right time, and the right time means in about five months.”

“That’s when we’re graduating, though.”

“Exactly!”

Clementine rolls her eyes. She shifts in her stance as she watches Louis crouch down and resume his attempts in finding his biology workbook that was long gone in a sea of crumpled notes and poorly maintained textbooks. There’s a restless discomfort churning in her chest; she doesn’t like its stagnancy taking up space in her lungs and she feels the need to just - _talk_ , even if it was trivial. 

But Louis, being the ever attentive person without genuinely meaning to be, asks her, “So! Clem, how was detention on Friday as a newly appointed delinquent? Must have been wild, considering you got another detention for today. Did you call Mr. Lingard a booger-sized piece of doodoo?” 

“What? No,” Clementine scoffs, crossing her arms. She licks her lips and stands up straighter. “It was actually - well. It was nice. I think I made a new friend.”

Louis freezes. He looks up at her and wiggles his brows. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Stop that.” Clementine groans when she sees the growing shit-eating grin taking form on his face. 

“Stop what?”

“Stop doing that with your face!”

“I can’t stop my face from being a face, Clem.”

Clementine frowns. “Well, whatever you’re thinking about right now, it’s not that. But we bonded over drawing Mr. Lingard as a bespectacled, sparkly dick, and I think we’re kinda tied to life now. And uh - she's pretty cool. Her name’s Violet. Do you know her?”

“Ooh. Violet,” Louis hums with approval. “Heck yeah I do. We went to the same middle school, actually. Kinda strange how we’ve never been close, but we _have_ talked before, and I like her snark. I never really had the chance to thoroughly get to know her, though, but I’d definitely like to. I have a feeling we’d be the best of bros.”

That’s Louis for you - a positivity magnet who carried sunshine in his pockets, effortlessly making friends left and right. Clementine smiles a bit. “Yeah. I think you guys would get along pretty well.”

“Indeed. So.” Louis leans forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, “You like her or what?”

Clementine tilts her head in question. “Yeah, I do. Like I said - I think she’s cool. Why?”

“Clem, I - wow. Okay. Jesus.” Louis stares at her as though she was unbelievable. “When the time comes, just let me be your love guru, alright?”

“ _What_ in the world - “

“Now, if you will excuse me,” Louis chirps as he finally finds his biology workbook and shoves it into his backpack before he springs up from his crouch and slams his locker shut. “I have biology to get to and Ms. Martin does _not_ like tardy students. See you later, alligator!”

Clementine watches quizzically as he skitters away like the bugs living in his locker. _What a dork._ She shakes her head and heads to her history class, somewhat dreading an expected confrontation with Mr. Mainland, but inexplicably excited for the day to be over. To think that the idea of detention made her happy was astounding, but she writes it off as the budding growth of a delinquent.

-

Violet offers a tentative smile instead of the evil eye this time. Clementine reciprocates the smile, throwing in a wave, and watches as Violet sits in the same seat near the door. She has on the same denim jacket with a myriad of colourful pins and embroidered patches, but she was wearing a green-blue flannel shirt underneath it this time. Looks comfy.

Mr. Lingard starts off with the same speech again and predictably falls asleep. At this point, Clementine thinks that all the teachers in this school are merely incompetent - save for Ms. Martin. But she plays it safe this time because she can’t afford another day of detention, and it seems as though Violet thought the same way since she doesn’t get out of her seat for the entire duration. 

Clementine bounces her leg restlessly underneath the table as she manages to finish all of her homework by the time detention was finally done. She stretches her limbs and hears her bones pop back into alignment with a satisfying crack. She glances at Violet and finds that she was already heading out of the classroom. Clementine quickly puts on her hat and grabs her things before she hurries after her, ignoring Mr. Lingard’s attempts at authoritative balderdash. 

“Violet, hey,” Clementine calls, lugging her bags along the way. Violet slows down so that Clementine can catch up, but as soon as Clementine stands directly beside her with the privilege of getting a full front view of Violet’s face, her brain suddenly haywires. “I - uh? Uhhh. Hey.” 

Violet narrows her eyes. Clementine clears her throat and tries to get a grip, but she has no idea as to why she ends up spouting nonsense. “So, have any plans after detention?”

“What do you think?" Violet quirks a brow. At Clementine's blank expression, she shakes her head. “Um. Just headin' home. What about it?”

“Do you wanna come to baseball practice?” Clementine wants to kick herself in the shin because it sounds a whole lot more stupid out loud. She blames Javier - him and his goddamn stupid beard. “I mean, uh. There’s only an hour left, really, but I mean - you’re friends with Brody, right? Maybe you’d like to visit her. I asked her about you and I think she’s about to inwardly explode from how much she loves you.”

Violet smiles. “Huh. You asked about me?”

Clementine purses her lips. “Only ‘cause I drew a dick with you. Bonding over that is a super rare _and_ super special experience.” 

“Guess I’m your side _dick_.”

That startles Clementine into a laugh, and the both of them end up snickering down the stairs. Once they’re out of the school, Violet’s smile softens, blending in with the mixed hues of purple and pink of the sky. “I guess I can stay for a bit. Sure would be a treat to see the captain of the baseball team in her element.”

Violet accepting the invitation should not make Clementine so happy, but it does. She tries not to grin but doesn’t try hard enough to stop it. 

It was a short fifteen minute walk to the park, but within that time frame, Clementine manages to personally get to know Violet a bit: a proponent of street art, does embroidery, has a love-hate relationship with the colour purple, an avid collector of pins, and once asked Mr. Mainland if his ass ever got jealous of the shit that came out of his mouth during her social studies class with him in the ninth grade. With their mutual hatred for Mr. Mainland, Clementine is a hundred percent certain that they’ll get along just swell. 

Clementine shares a bit about herself too - how her family consisting of little brother AJ and single father Lee Everett is related to her by bond and not by blood; how she can’t stay still and needs to do something active in order to feel alive and less stagnant; how she likes photography and would focus more on it if it weren’t for her priorities as the baseball captain. 

It was a little thrilling to get to know someone new - someone different from Louis and Brody and Marlon. Violet was quiet but loud in her presence, her voice soft-spoken but hardened - she was a fist wrapped in blood but the brave origin of the warmth that lingers inside Clementine's chest. She can't help but smile to herself whenever a comfortable silence fell between them. 

Once they arrive at the baseball diamond, Javier notices Clementine and perks up. A look of surprise spreads across his face, however, when he notices Violet.

“Clem! I didn’t think you were gonna take me so literally,” Javier says. “If only you were this great of a listener during a game.” 

“I follow the rules perfectly fine.” Clementine smiles. She gently knocks shoulders with Violet. “This is Violet, the friend I made in detention that I told you about. She’s gonna watch us for a bit. Oh, there’s Brody. Brody!” 

At the sound of her name, Brody turns around from chatting with their teammates during their short break, and her blue eyes immediately sparkles at the sight of Violet. She excuses herself and skips towards them, her outfit stained with dirt that was also smudged across her cheeks. “Oh my God, Violet! You’re here? Why’re you here? I can’t believe you’re actually here! Ruby, come on over!”

Ruby approaches them while wiping sweat away from her forehead with a towel, donning an incredulous look. Ruby was a redhead sweetheart with apple cheeks and a spectacular, keen bullshit detector. Clementine likes her spunk a lot. “Violet? Am I dreaming or is that really you?”

“I know right?” Brody exclaims, literally jumping in her spot. “I thought you absolutely _hated_ baseball!”

Violet tenses. Clementine turns to her with a questioning frown. “What? You hate baseball?”

“Brody,” Violet hisses as her face reddens, “shut _up_.” 

Ruby groans and throws her head back, covering her face with the towel. Brody darts her eyes between the two of them before gradual realization seems to dawn on her, and she gasps. “Ooooh. _Oh._ Oh my God. Violet, you and I are _totally_ going to have to talk later, okay? Now Clem - “ she takes Clementine by the wrist and tugs her towards the bench, “c’mon! Get some practice in.” 

Clementine glances behind her shoulder to find Violet hiding her face in her hands. She wonders what _that_ was all about, but she buries the curiosity away into the southern hemisphere of her brain in order to focus on making use of the time she has left for practice. Brody and Ruby cover her with their towels as Clementine changes her clothes out in the open and switches her sneakers for cleats. Afterwards, she does a few quick laps and stretches to warm up before she participates in the team signal scrimmage. 

Baseball is a game of movement. Clementine’s feet were made to travel at speed and light - her breathing steady and heart strong. She was born to run and calculate each twist and turn that would earn her the win, whether it was through a successful slide or for sprinting at the right pace in order to catch up to the ball flying out of the outfield. Every breath of delight from hitting the ball, too, sent her nerves sparking with adrenaline. 

At one point, Javier ends up taking the mound as the pitcher to move things along. They end up executing a number of different and new plays during a game scenario while figuring out what worked and didn’t work for all of them. Clementine was just in the peak of her rhythm when practice was finally over. She stands in the diamond for a few seconds with heavy breaths, soaking in the soft warmth of the waning sunset and the air of vestigial excitement still thrumming inside her veins. 

But then she remembers about Violet and she whips her head around, searching across the fields, and feels her heart dimly ache in relief when she catches the familiar sight of blonde hair by the team benches. Violet was tracking her with slightly widened eyes, a look of faint wonder scrawled over her expression. Clementine grins and tips her hat. She wonders if Violet still hates baseball. 

The smile on her face says otherwise.


	2. i think i glove you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> violet: h-  
> clem: omg ure hilarious i lvoe u

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any inaccuracies abt baseball !! i legit get my baseball info from sports manga and google jshsj BUT I HOPE U ALL LIKE IT THANK U SM FOR READING

Clementine was tapping her head against her biology textbook in a zombie-like trance, hoping that by some ungodly miracle, all the information from the text would transfer into her brain by osmosis. Unfortunately, all she picked up on was the urge to nap and even that seems a lot more productive than forcing her brain to analyse monerans as a lifeform at the prokaryotic level of organization. Like, what the fuck does _that_ mean?

She settles on glaring at the textbook instead. She’s been told her stare is both unnerving and capable of making formidable opponents cower before her; if only that applies to the inanimate language bestowed upon her in a block of scientific text. 

Clementine looks up when familiar faces appear in her periphery, and finds Brody and Ruby taking the spots beside her at their usual lunch table. Louis was off to band practice while Marlon was stuck in woodwork because he somehow managed to jam the bandsaw, leaving Clementine alone to fend for herself in an attempt to cram before her test. 

“Clem, our beloved bundle of sunshine!” Brody greets her in a manner that was way too peppy to be normal while she takes out her lunch. “What’cha doing there?”

“Preparing my imminent death in about twenty minutes,” Clementine deadpans. 

Brody frowns and leans over Clementine’s shoulder to take a look at the study question she was stuck on. “Oh, I did this last year. You gotta identify the characteristics that unify monerans, Clem. Take their motility and ecological role into account! Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. You got this.”

“Brody, not everyone skipped ahead like you did,” Clementine groans in agony, seconds away from a sinking underneath the table to live in for the rest of her life after all that scientific jargon flew over her head. “Ruby, help.”

“Your brain is gonna shrivel up and shimmy all the way down to your butt like an aggravated salsa dance if you don’t put something in your stomach first,” Ruby says as she plants a mandarin over Clementine’s textbook. “Eat a fruit, sug.”

Brody gasps. “Ruby, that’s cannibalism.”

Clementine shoots them an unimpressed look, but she takes the fruit anyways and begins peeling away the skin. “I swear by all the salt in me if either of you crack another fruit joke again, I’m shoving this up your ass.” 

Ruby throws her hands up in a gesture of acquiescence, while Brody seems intent to barrel on in the conversation without much care to the credibility of Clementine’s facetious threat. “Let’s not get vulgar here, now, but anyways. Have you heard? Turns out that Delta’s new coach is Mr. Mainland’s daughter. Willy? Nilly? Lily? I dunno, but can you believe that? God, do you think she’s gonna be just as worse as Mr. Mainland? I bet she’s gonna tell us that the ground’s too precious for our dirty feet to kiss. She seems like the type to do that.”

Clementine makes a frustrated noise past all the fruit she shoved into her mouth. “Fuck.” 

“Oh, I’d like to see her try,” Ruby says as she slaps a hand on the table. “Coach is gonna tell her to eat a goddamn pudding to put some more sweetness in that itty bitty heart of hers before telling her to fuck off like all the cantankerous vermin of the ocean.” 

God, does Clementine love her spunk. “Ruby, if I could marry you, I totally would.”

“What? What? No, don’t marry Ruby!” Brody exclaims frantically. “You can’t marry Ruby! You’re supposed to, like, be on the search for other potential candidates for your heart! Like, uh - I don’t know. Maybe a certain blonde?”

Clementine narrows her eyes and frowns. Ruby slaps Brody on the shoulder from behind and Brody lets out a yelp. They’re acting a little too fishy - a sign that tells Clementine should definitely skedaddle. “You mean Marlon?”

Ruby lets out a shrill cackle, nearly falling out of her seat, as Brody vehemently denies such an assumption with a look of disgust and horror. Yep. Definitely time to ske-fucking-daddle. 

Clementine eats her last piece of mandarin before she begins packing up, intellectually and mentally incapacitated by one-celled organisms and shady friends. Brody stops her in the middle of slipping out of the lunch table, however, with a sneaky smile. 

“Clem, wait! Before you leave, can you do me a favour?” At Clementine’s raised brow, she continues on excitedly. “Can you try to convince Vi into attending the Delta game this Friday? We need all the support we can get. I mean, I’d do it myself but she never listens to me, and _boy_ was it a surprise to see her at practice on Monday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Vi agree to do something she doesn’t like so quickly in my entire life, and I’ve been friends with her since middle school!” 

“It’s true. Last time I told her to try joining the prom committee,” Ruby pipes in ever so helpfully, “she told me to hippity hoppity, please fucking stoppity. The girl's got no respect for formal administration.” 

“Um.” Clementine ignores the flutter in her chest. She doesn’t know what to do with that kind of information and doesn’t know if she _wants_ to know why she was an exception. “But didn’t you say that she absolutely hated baseball?”

“Oh. Hm. _Hmmmm._ ” Brody taps her chin in thought. “Did I say that? I don’t remember. Do you remember, Ruby?”

“Nope.”

“Guys, I was literally right in front of - “

“Well, who knows! Maybe Vi’s had a change of heart or whatever.” Brody waves it off, beaming. “But can you try and talk her into it? Pretty, _pretty_ please with a cherry on top? I’ll do your share of cleanup duty for a whole two weeks if you agree.”

Clementine’s forehead puckers in deep consideration as she takes in Brody’s imploring puppy eyes and Ruby’s gleam of deviltry. Pair that up with Clementine’s innate predisposition as a selective people pleaser, she’s got no choice but to comply, knitting her brows into a scowl. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do, but you better keep your word about cleanup duty.”

Brody and Ruby erupt into cheers, high-fiving each other and leaving Clementine all the more confused. She shakes her head and says her goodbyes; she marches out of the cafeteria with a rain cloud over her head, probably doomed to bomb her biology test, but with a fuzzy warmth inside her chest that curled around her ribcage and cocooned her heart.

\- 

Easier said than done, though. Clementine has no fucking clue on where to start.

It’s not like they were close enough for Clementine to start busting down doors and yell her name out at the top of her lungs in search of her corporeal being. The last time Clementine saw Violet was last Monday’s short-lived practice. While Clementine had been busy packing up her belongings, she witnessed Violet chasing Brody around with an incoherent catalogue of curses as she wielded a stick as a weapon, before she finally stormed off without a word. Brody had dismissed it as nothing serious, though the gleam of mischief in her eyes failed to contribute much to her innocent facade.

The other reason being that Clementine has no idea where Violet hangs out at during breaks. Considering that she’s been said to skip class often, Clementine lacks the tact to hunt her down in a school filled to the brim with rowdy kids. 

So, being completely lost at a standstill, Clementine resorts to her last saving grace. 

And by that, she means detention.

Of course, since Clementine isn’t a problem child, she’s been detention-free lately in order to prepare for the upcoming game and to avoid Javier’s nitpicky wrath, because when he’s stressed, it makes the rest of the team stressed. 

That also means she has to refrain herself from calling Mr. Mainland a Pissy McHissyfit who should stop trying to be a smartass when he’s just an ass whenever he attempts to pick on her in class. Clementine has mastered the art of self-discipline, but if it wasn’t for the school hierarchy, she’d feed his pasty ass to starving mice.

After school, Clementine lugs her heavy equipment around the courtyard as she pokes her head above a window sill and peeks into an empty classroom. There was no sign of Mr. Lingard nor a head of blonde and purple. All she saw was Mr. Mainland collecting phlegm from the back of his throat and spitting into the trashcan near his desk. Clementine wrinkles her nose in displeasure, sticks out her tongue, and ducks back into hiding. She trudges down the next window. 

Her brilliant idea was born from the realization that Mr. Lingard’s classroom was on the ground floor, meaning that it was in a reachable vicinity outside of the building - what with the glaringly large window panes demanding attention from its reflective glass and all. She just has to find the correct one out of all them.

Maneuvering around the little garden beds of the courtyard after four failed attempts, she finally spots Mr. Lingard reclined in his chair with his mouth hanging open like a poor fish, while Violet was sitting in her usual seat with her legs propped up against the desk, tapping furiously on her phone. Beaming with triumph, Clementine knocks on the window and watches as Violet jerks around in her seat, her eyes widening at the sight of Clementine wiggling her fingers from outside. 

Violet darts a cautious glance at Mr. Lingard’s sleeping figure before she quietly tiptoes between the aisles of desks. She reaches the window, and with a grimace, furtively pushes it open. Her brows are raised high, voice kept to an audible whisper, “Dude. What’re you doing? Just strollin’ by or something?” 

“Uh.” Clementine is suddenly _very_ aware of how clear Violet’s eyes are that reminds her of summertime in the woodlands. She focuses on the way a wary smile surfaces on her pink lips and Clementine’s skill in the English language progressively downsizes as her brain malfunctions. Oh, God. Clementine was turning into _Louis_. “I - uh. Well, I’m just - uh, yeah! You’re right. Just strolling by, actually. Thought I’d come to your rescue and break you out of prison.”

“Oh.” Violet attempts to prop her elbow against the window ledge but fails to do so as she loses her balance. She springs back up and dusts off her clothes, clearing her throat in a pretense of composure. “Wow. Cool. I - that’s cool. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” Clementine wants to gently disappear beneath the earth and never resurface again. This conversation was a whole lot harder than hitting a homerun but she reels her nerves back in. “So. Do you always have detention? Is this the place where I have to go every time I wanna find you or what?”

“Why would you wanna find me?”

“Well. Why wouldn’t I? Have you forgotten about your other half already? And here I thought we’d have more chances together to deface teachers as humanoid dicks. What a shame.” 

"Right. How could I forget? We’re high school vigilantes taking pedagogical defiance to a whole new artistic level.” Violet laughs quietly, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “I don’t have a fixed schedule for earning detention, you know. But - um. If you want, we can exchange numbers.” 

“I - yeah! Totally. Of course. Sounds super cool. Totally.” Clementine fumbles for her phone in her pocket and hands it over. Bug-eyed, she watches as Violet types in her contact information with disbelief, before she sends a quick glance towards Mr. Lingard who’s thankfully still sound asleep. 

Violet hands her phone back after she’s finished, a smile dangling on the corner of her lips. “So. Did you come all the way here to find me just so you can get my number?”

“What? Pfft. No way,” Clementine denies goodnaturedly, though her face heats up. “It’s ‘cause I want you to come to the game this Friday. You know, again, for moral support? We’re facing Delta and we’re basically rival schools. You’ll get to see my coach throw a conniption fit at the other team’s coach while we kick their ass. I guarantee it’ll be _totally_ entertaining. Plus, Brody will be happy.” Violet seems unconvinced especially at the mention of Brody, but with a sharp intake of breath, Clementine works up the nerve to continue, “It’ll - um. Make me happy too, if you come.”

Violet blinks owlishly. Once. Twice. Thrice. She takes her hands out of her pockets, pauses, then puts them back in, looking a little flustered. “Oh. _Oh_. I - okay. Yeah, okay. I’ll come. Definitely. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” 

“Sweet.” Clementine grins, her heart swelling a bit. “I guess you don’t really hate baseball, after all.”

“Huh? No, I just - no. Brody was just rememberin’ shit wrong. Her memory sucks ass. I absolutely do _not_ hate baseball. Nope.”

Clementine raises a brow. “Nice to hear it. Well, try not to get detention until the week ends, okay? I’m expecting you there.” She takes a step back and points at her eyes with two fingers, shaped like a V, before turning it around towards Violet’s eyes. Violet snaps a sarcastic salute and Clementine laughs. “See you Friday.”

Clementine turns around and starts to leave, and halfway across the courtyard, she glances around her shoulder, finding that Violet was already gone and that the window was shut again. Without anyone in sight, Clementine immediately loses her cool and enthuses over what had just happened as she breaks into a run, grinning widely until her cheeks hurt. 

This? _This_ is great. Clementine has no idea why it’s so great when it’s merely another friend tagging along to one of of her many games, but excitement wired her body like she was plugged into the mains and it feels as though there was air beneath her feet. She was way too giddy than necessary, but she can’t help her heart from swinging like a pendulum.

Sighing, Clementine finds herself looking forward to the day of the game - not only to win, but to also see a familiar face in the stands as well.

-

Come Friday, Clementine is the only one who isn’t shitting her brains out of performance anxiety and going bananas at the prospect of losing. In fact, she was quite literally the calm of the storm in the girls’ locker room brimming with chaos; she spots Brody turning green with nausea, Ruby vigorously doing push-ups to sweat out the apprehension, Sarah chugging down her water bottle like her life depended on it, and the rest were mainly having a crisis right there and then. It’s a little funny how completely different the team is when hidden away from public scrutiny.

“You know,” Clementine deadpans as Brody runs past her for the toilet, “I think you all need to inhale more negative ions.”

Once they arrive at the park, they begin to unpack their equipment and prepare for warm ups in advance since Delta hasn’t arrived yet. A large, woven chain fence hovered over the baseball diamond behind the umpire’s spot to separate it from the audience; behind it were the wooden bleachers that were already beginning to fill. Clementine darts her eyes around in search of Violet, but to no avail. 

Javier instructs them to run two laps for a quick warm up before they do sprints and lunges. As Clementine follows Brody who was in the circle leading dynamic stretches, she side-eyes Javier’s excessive caffeine intake with his large travel mug of espresso. After the circle disbands, she makes her way towards the dugout to grab her glove. “Coach. Are you sure you should be drinking so much coffee? I mean, game rage plus caffeine doesn’t sound like a very smart combination.”

“What’d I say about calling me Coach? It makes me sound like an old man with a pot belly who can’t differentiate between a pompadour and quiff.” Javier frowns. “And c’mon. Paul’s in the business of providing chemical stimulants so of course I’m gonna take advantage of it. I assure you that I’ll be totally fine, though.”

“Please. You’re just gonna do stupid things faster with more energy.” 

Javier gives her a peeved look at her sarcasm, but his attention is suddenly drawn towards the side. His jaw tenses. “Delta’s here. That must be their new coach.” 

Clementine follows his gaze. There’s a van stopped near the drop-off lane of the parkade. Delta’s baseball team, consisting of new members and familiar ones, file out of the vehicle with their equipment, already dressed in their green and black uniforms. In front of the team was a tall, middle-aged woman with hawkish eyes and a permascowl, followed by a duo of managers, and _holy cow_ does Clementine see the resemblance of the Mainlands from their noses to their murderous looks. 

The Delta team takes up the dugout on the opposite of theirs. Javier downs half of his coffee like a shot of vodka and puts on the fakest smile of all fake smiles when Delta’s coach approaches them. She looks a lot taller and sterner up close, but Clementine doesn't falter.

“I’m Delta’s new coach. Call me Lily. You must be Javier Garcia,” she says, raking him from head to toe with disinterested eyes. Then her scrutiny flickers to Clementine. “And _you_ must be Clementine Everett. Number sixteen. Cleanup hitter and center fielder. I’ve heard impressive things about you.”

“Impressive or insolent?” Clementine cocks her head to the side. “I’m sure you’ve got a non-stop primary source for hearing all sorts of things about me.” 

Lily narrows her eyes, her shoulders tensing when she finally understands who Clementine was alluding to. Javier clears his throat and steps forward, trying for a handshake, but Lily keeps her arms crossed. That’s one strike for Javier. It takes three for him to really blow a fuse. “Okay, then. I look forward to having a great game with your folks, Lily. Hopefully, your team is big on sportsmanship when they lose.” 

“Oh, big talk for a small team. If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong.”

“I'd like to see things from your point of view, ma’am, but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass.”

"That's understandable. Your head seems a little too small to be holding a brain in there." 

Clementine quickly leaves them alone to settle their passive aggressive argument. She slips on her glove, calling for the team to practice throwing. Gabe, Javier’s nephew and the team’s manager, gives them a crate box full of baseballs to use. 

“God, they’re always so haughty,” Brody complains as she swings her arm forward. Her fierce disposition is a one-eighty from how she was preocupado in the bathroom. “Let’s maul them, girls. Show them who’s the real boss of these bases!” 

Ruby sends Clementine a stern look. “Do _not_ engage with their animosity, Clem. Or, at least try. The last thing we need is for you to ice another injury ‘cause you can’t go an inning without calling someone an asshole.”

Clementine shrugs. “What can I say? I’m pre-wired to tell the truth.”

After their designated ten minute practice on the diamond was up, they leave the field for Delta’s turn to use the diamond for practice. As Clementine makes her way back to the dugout, she chances another glance towards the audience with searching eyes and a curlicue of doubt cinched around her chest. She begins to grow a little hopeless when she fails to find who she’s looking for, but then an embellished jacket catches her eye with its colourful pins and patches. At the very back of the bleachers near a tall conifer tree with a broad bar of sunlight hitting against her back - was Violet. 

Violet’s hair looks paler in the sun. Clementine wonders what colour the sun made her eyes too. 

But then something else grabs her attention; something annoying, something disastrous, something a whole lot like a pain in her ass - 

Louis. 

_What the fuck_ , she thinks to herself as she watches Louis, who for some implausible reason was sitting beside Violet, talk animatedly with wild gesticulation. Then the next thing Clementine knows, she finds herself face flat on the ground with dirt in her mouth after her shoe got caught on a jagged crevice. Clementine can’t believe that even her own turf was conspiring against her, making her reveal her fallen form to basically all of her opponents and a misfit she knows at a surface-level but wants to know at a deeper depth. 

Clementine hurriedly gets to her feet, dusting off her white uniform while hoping that her hat shielded her burning face. She looks at the bleachers again and realizes that she’s garnered their attention: Louis was doing a weird jig in substitute of actual cheerleading, splaying his fingers out in a fancy rendition of jazz hands; meanwhile, Violet offers a slight smile of acknowledgement while looking seconds away from burying Louis’ head into the ground. Fumbling for a socially acceptable reaction that will not be perceived as ‘whipped’ or ‘questionably sane’, Clementine settles on finger guns. 

“That looked really awkward,” Gabe comments offhandedly when she returns to the bench with a face hot with embarrassment underneath a facade of coolness.

“You saw nothing.”

“I mean. Everyone saw that, but okay.”

When Clementine lets Brody and Ruby know, Ruby drops the gear in her arms and gasps. “Well, I’ll be diddly darned damned! Vi actually turned up at a baseball game? Never would I have ever thought I’d live to see that day. Jesus, this is a history in the making! We gotta capture the moment.”

Brody squeals, absolutely delighted. “Shit, you’re right! C’mon, let’s get our phones real quick and snap a few pics. You’re the best, Clem!” 

She watches the both of them run off to their bags in the dugout. Clementine glances around her shoulder and sneaks a look back at the bleachers. Everyone’s been reeking of suspicious activity. First, Ruby and Brody. Now, Louis? If it isn’t for the constant reminder of how literally all her friends are innate weirdos, she would have thought that the apocalypse was coming. Clementine shakes her head. It’s time to clear her head to focus on the game. She can mull over about it later. 

She wipes her mind clean for now and closes her eyes, feeling the world beneath her feet align with her breaths. 

 

 

 

The game is close. 

(Too goddamn close, that is.)

Clementine never underestimates her opponents, but Delta has severely improved ever since their new coach came into the picture. Their defense plays were hard to follow and predict, and a majority of them were strong hitters with an occasional bunt that threw them off-kilter. 

What’s been glaringly noticeable, however, was the pressure they’ve been pushing onto Clementine during their interactions, especially with the curveballs being thrown out of grid and way too close to her even though she wasn’t crowding the home plate. It’s a blessing that Clementine’s honed her reflexes to react quickly enough; there’s been too many close calls and the umpire’s judgment is wonky at times to interfere.

But Clementine does end up telling Delta’s pitcher that she looked like she just crawled out of someone’s butthole and called the center fielder an embarrassment to all of baseball history in the middle of switching defenses, so Clementine supposes _that_ itself is a plus. 

Though the prospect of losing was unpleasant, at least Clementine lived up to her promise of presenting entertainment between the coaches - she’s lost count of how many times Javier pissed off the umpire and yelled the most ludicrous insults that even the crudest of people will blanch at. 

“Yeah? Well, you know what? You’re so white, your blood is mayonnaise!” Javier shouts hoarsely from the bench at Lily who made a snide remark about Ericson’s poor performance. That's probably strike ten. Or twenty. “You belong in the ocean because the ocean’s just oil and dead marine life, taking _you_ with it, so eat some shit!” 

“See?” Ruby leans forward, cupping her mouth. “I told y’all he was gonna say sumthin’ like that.”

Brody rubs her temples as the umpire shouts at Javier to shut up. “Please save the ocean.”

After Javier calls for a timeout in the last inning, Clementine watches her team slink back in the shade of their dugout, towels thrown over their necks and filling the quiet air with their heavy panting. They grab their refilled water bottles from Gabe, who lets them know about the horrendous number of outs they’ve had so far. They’re tired, but Clementine knows from their ducked heads and tense bodies that they’ve become discouraged as well. 

“You think I went to clown school for this? To see your sloppy footwork and crumbling teamwork? To see your butts get kicked by a bunch of uppity rich kids who can afford nicer equipment? To see _my_ butt get kicked by Delta’s coach who looks like a porn star soccer mom?” Javier crosses his arms. “What the hell is going on?” 

“In my defense,” Erin, their catcher with the colourful braces, speaks up, “Sarah’s been thinkin’ about a sandwich this whole time. I signaled her to throw me a cutter last inning but she threw me a knuckleball instead. Girl, if you don’t get your head in the game, I’ll give you a knuckle _sandwich_.” 

“The sun got in my eye, okay!” 

“They’ve been tryna incapacitate Clem over here, Javi,” Brody says. “I can’t help but worry and when I worry, I lose focus!”

Clementine frowns, her arms akimbo. “Look, Ms. Broody Brody, I’m _fine_. I’ve survived this far without any injuries, haven’t I? And I’ll still be fine after we win. Just - I don’t know. Stop hesitating and think about _now_. Think about moving forward. We’ve gotten this far because of our teamwork and our spirit. I won’t accept defeat, so if you give up on the team now, I’m going to personally whoop your asses - the _lot_ of you.” 

“You guys should really listen to her,” Javier helpfully supplies, “she packs a real punch. I know from first-hand experience.” 

At the thought of Clementine’s ass-kicking, the team immediately perks up, brought back to life as they sprung from their seats with vigor and enthusiasm, cheering their usual embarrassing slogan. When the umpire calls the end of their timeout, the team files out of their dugout with the atmosphere completely changed into that of a brighter disposition. Back into the play, Ruby manages to hit the ball out of left field, moving all the baserunners up ahead. The bases are loaded now. 

Clementine warms up her swing as she waits her turn to bat in the on-deck circle. Javier gives her a few pointers and inspires faith by telling her to go kick some bourgeoisie ass. Now, _that_ is something Clementine can do to complete perfection. 

Taking up the plate, she gets into a batter’s stance as she studies Delta’s pitcher. Clementine doesn’t swing at the first pitch, though she stumbles back in time to avoid the ball grazing her shirt - a real fuckin’ annoying curveball. She narrows her eyes and bites the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from blurting out how playing dirty negates their credibility as baseball players, but she keeps the smartass comments to herself. 

Clementine lets the second pitch pass her. A cutter. Delta’s pitcher is using the same pitching pattern as the first inning; the view before her suddenly widens and clears and she takes in a deep breath, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. There's a trail of gunpowder in her veins and this - _this_ , the suffocating pressure and the adrenaline spiking in her lungs - is the only match that can spark her soul out to play.

She knows that it’ll be aimed close to her body again. At the pitcher’s wind-up and release of the ball, she immediately recognizes the pitch to be a fastball. Clementine steps back at they very last moment to create space between her and ball, and swings hard enough - her metal bat collides with the ball with a satisfying ring and sends it flying sharply past the infielders. 

Clementine sprints across the bases, ahead of the outfielders throwing the collected ball back to the infielders. The rest of the baserunners have managed to run home because of how far Clementine had hit, but Clementine was halfway across home when one of the infielders returns the ball to the catcher. Clementine grits her teeth, dropping low to slide towards home base at the same time the catcher seizes the ball.

A cloud of smoke rises from the dirt, permeating the brief silence that hovered in the diamond. Her heart is hammering against her chest, threatening to lurch past her throat. The umpire is quiet for a moment of consideration before he finally declares, “Safe!” 

Clementine hears her surroundings erupt into ecstatic cheers. The bleachers rattles with cacophony and incoherent screaming echoes from the dugout. She heaves out a relieved sigh and pulls herself up from the ground. Clementine goes over to retrieve the bat she tossed aside before her team welcomes her with open arms back at the dugout, slapping her back and ruffling her hair after her hat falls off.

Brody pulls Clementine into a bone-crushing hug. “I saw what you did last minute, Clem! You’re goddamn magic. How the fuck did you move like that?”

“With sheer willpower,” Clementine wheezes, feeling her lungs bruise, “and sheer spite. You should have seen the pitcher’s face.” 

“Should’ve seen the one on Vi’s,” Ruby mumbles and hisses when Brody kicks her in the shin. Clementine is overcome with curiosity and tries to look around the bleachers, but her focus is drawn away when Javier comes over with a proud yet worried look.

“That was a risky move, missy.”

Clementine grins. “But we scored, didn't we? Multiple runs and a homerun. It was worth it.” 

“Yeah, but it wouldn't feel as great if you ended up getting injured.” Javier puts a firm hand on her shoulder. “But damn right, you’re magic. I think we just came out victorious.”

The rest of the batting lineup finishes with another extra run on Brody’s part. The inning ends with Ericson’s win - nine to five. They're moving ahead in the tournament. Clementine ends up bruising her tailbone when the team tries to carry her and throw her up in the air, but miscalculates the strength of their overexerted bodies and drops her instead. The dredges of adrenaline help mask the ache, though. Clementine can’t be anymore happier than seeing her team happy. 

The teams line up on the field and exchange handshakes. Clementine makes sure to smile a bit smugly at Delta’s pitcher and look at Lily right in the eye as she says, “Say hello to Mr. Mainland for me, please.” 

The sun is setting behind the line of trees in the distance, scattering warm light across the orange sky in streaks of diffused purple among cirrus clouds. Clementine does her fair share of receiving praise with gratitude from familiar faces, but rather hurriedly, as she wants to find Violet before somebody whisks her away for a photo or something too adulatory for her comfort.

Clementine doesn’t have to look too hard, however, when she spots Violet digging her heels into ground by the tennis court nearby, seeking shade underneath one of the many bulky trees of thick foliage. Clementine can’t help the smile spreading across her face as she jogs towards her, offering a short wave to grab Violet’s dazed attention.

“Hey,” Clementine greets her quietly, subduing her enthusiasm. “Can’t believe you succeeded in avoiding detention today. I thought you got your ass busted.” 

“Eh. Thought I’d temporarily abandon my role as a harbinger of destruction _just_ for you, though it took a lot of willpower to pretend to be an upstanding citizen of society.” Violet shrugs nonchalantly. 

Clementine laughs. “Vigilantes can never rest, I guess. I - um. Thanks for coming. I mean, I’m sure Brody appreciates it. I hope it wasn’t boring or anything.” 

“What’re you talkin’ about? Dude, you kicked _ass._ Not to mention your coach was a goddamn walking Jerry Springer show. Plus, watching you is never a dull moment - wait. I mean, uh - shit.” Violet grimaces at her own words, though Clementine fails to understand why, too engrossed with the way Violet shifts in her posture and holds her elbow. Timidity seems to have overcome her. “I’m just - I’m glad I came. You were amazing, Clem.” 

Okay. _Okay._ Clementine’s heard that before; she literally just heard that from Brody fifteen minutes ago, but hearing it from Violet kickstarted the gentle flutters in her chest that pooled all the way down to her warm stomach. Her face is hot too - hot enough for someone to cook a three course meal on it, but that doesn’t stop her from grinning uncontrollably until she pulls a cheek muscle. “Thanks, _Vi_.” 

Violet stares at her, sharp eyes slightly wide as a flush of pink arises on her cheeks. She turns her head to the side, lips tugging upwards - not quite a smile, as though she was restraining it, but close enough that looks lopsided and admittedly attractive. Goddamnit. 

Before Clementine can set aside the time to humiliate herself by saying something stupid, Louis comes bounding towards them with a shit-eating grin. Clementine barely has enough brain cells to process what was going on when Louis wraps his arms around her, picks her up, and twirls her around like a rustic carousel gone haywire. 

“There’s my little fierce champion! The light of my life, the peanut butter to my jelly, the Robin Hood flour to my cookies, the - ow!” Louis lets go when Clementine pinches his arm hard enough for him to relent. “And _also_ an unappreciative brute. Accept my affection, will you?”

Clementine frowns. She darts her eyes towards Violet, who in turn, was glaring at Louis. “Go do that to Aasim, why don’t you?”

“So, like. We’re totally not gonna talk about my failing love life right now. C’mon, Clem. I’m kinda like the _bro_ tagonist of your life, don’t you think? No? No. Okay, gotcha. Anyways.” Louis sidles up to Violet and swings an arm around her shoulder despite Violet’s obvious objections. “As you were playing for your life, Clem, Vi and I here became best friends in the span of two hours. We’re, like, basically inseparable right now. Don’t you agree, Vi?”

“My will to live was deconstructing on a molecular level when I was stuck next to you, Louis,” Violet deadpans. “You never shut the fuck up.” 

“See? Best friends!” 

Clementine quirks an eyebrow. A nice thing about Louis is that he never shuts up. He’s funny, personable and basically a social butterfly, although at times he _does_ end up fluttering into the wrong kind of people, but he’s got a good sense of character. A not-so-nice thing about Louis is that he never gets to the point. When he’s obvious about something that’s supposed to be a secret, he never tries to hide it nor does he explain it either, and it really gets on Clementine’s nerves - like, right now, as he’s wiggling his eyebrows at Violet who glares at him in response. The hell does _that_ mean?

“The fam didn’t come today?” Louis looks around with squinting eyes. 

“Hm? No. Lee had to work overtime tonight so my neighbours are taking care of AJ.”

“Interesting.” Louis hums, darting a quick glance to Violet before he looks down at his wrist and what seems to be a nonexistent watch. “Well, look at the time! I gotta jet. I’m supposed to study with Marlon for our upcoming - uh, fuckin’ chemistry test.” He looks so dejected that it looks fake. “Guess I’ll see you gals on Monday, then.”

Clementine narrows her eyes. “But Marlon doesn’t even have che - “

“See ya!” Louis shouts as he jogs backwards, waving with both of his arms, before he rushes off. Clementine makes sure to strangle him for answers the next time they’re alone. 

She shares a skeptical look with Violet, who offers Clementine a painfully shy smile that is completely detrimental to Clementine’s heart. This seriously isn’t like Clementine; she’s direct, confident, and lionhearted almost to a fault - so what is it about Violet that reduces Clementine into a prepubescent tween with an awkward, one-sided crush? Well, it’s not like this _is_ a crush or anything, but it sure does feel like one. 

Clementine looks down at her dirty uniform and stares. And stares. Something clicks in her mind but she fails to apprehend it because _holy shit, is this a crush?_ Fuck. Clementine has the social graces of a common housefly.

“So. Um.” Violet opens her mouth, stops, then closes it again. Another minute or two passes before she finally continues. “Do you… uh, have something you have to do? Right now?” 

Clementine looks up in surprise, and quickly composes herself. _Begone, thoughts._ “Nope, not really.”

Violet bites down on her bottom lip. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, but then she takes her hands out and crosses her arms instead, slouching a bit. Violet closes her eyes and inhales sharply. “I - do you wanna, like, hang out for a bit? Get food or somethin’?” 

Clementine blinks. It feels as though someone took a spark of her excitement and poured in kerosine, turning the flames into a bonfire, burning bigger and brighter. If it showed on her expression, she didn’t bother hiding it. “Sure. I’d like that. I’m _starving_.” 

“I - cool. Okay.” Violet looks somewhat awestruck, as though she can’t believe Clementine actually said yes. “Any place in mind?”

“Not really. McDonalds?”

Violet beams. “Fuck _yes._ It’s like you read my mind. I could really go for chicken nuggets, God.” 

The way to the nearest McDonalds located at the heart of town is quiet. They walked beside each other, their elbows brushing at times, and aside from the fact that it makes Clementine’s heart jolt, she also feels at ease. From exchanging quips about Mr. Mainland and other awful teachers they’ve had, Clementine mentions that Delta’s coach was Mr. Mainland’s daughter, which highly likely explains the passive aggressive hostility she received from the game today. 

“Shit, really? If I were you, I would have pissed her off even more,” Violet says. “Should’ve told her that her father is an active man of paralyzing stupidity who looks like someone hit random on the Skyrim character customization.” 

Clementine laughs and flicks her on the shoulder. “You’re a real instigator at heart, you know that?”

But other than their engaging conversations, there was also the occasional quietness Clementine didn’t mind. Violet’s silence was somehow comforting and spoke for itself - spun into feathers without hurry, happy to change direction according to the wind. 

Once they arrive at the chain, tucked in between a secondhand bookstore and a sweets shop, they place their orders first. Clementine orders a meal with large fries while Violet carries through with her chicken nuggets, and they end up finding a quiet seat near the window at the very back corner. Clementine can see how the buildings across from her looked like a painting still wet with oils from the blurry sunset burning bright against it - a wavering stillness that demanded earth’s attention. 

“You know who I blame for our health problems caused by food?” Violet asks as she rips off the seal of the sauce and dunks a nugget in. “Everybody else, ‘cause it’s everybody else making shit food taste like what I imagine The Last Supper with Jesus and Friends tasted like.”

Clementine snorts. “True. And chewing gum really just gives you flavoured spit.”

“That is literally the worst thing you have ever said to me.” 

“Fine. Macarons are like tiny expensive burgers for starving ass mice.”

Violet looks horrified. Clementine grins.

They talk about everything and nothing and all that’s in between. Clementine can see the way the tension ebbs away from Violet’s shoulders as she sits up a bit straighter and holds her head higher, becoming more animated in her speech and comfortable in her parlance. Though Clementine does most of the listening, she doesn’t mind - too busy commiting to memory every line that appears on Violet’s forehead whenever she’s disgruntled, or the way her eyes crinkle when she speaks of something pleasant, or how easily pink she becomes whenever she’s embarrassed. And it’s cute. Like, really _really_ cute. Shit. 

The sky has completely darkened outside by the time Clementine realizes it’s already a quarter past eight. Having been stuck in their own little orbit of random musings, time seemed to have suspended as though the backdrop of time and place was eliminated and faded away so that it was just the two of them sitting against a blankness. There’s an indiscernible peace in her heart and she doesn’t know why. The answer is _there_ in the back of Clementine’s mind, but she hasn’t had the time to process everything for her to actually acknowledge it yet.

But as they threw away their garbage, returned the trays, and left the building returning back into the streets lit aglow by the sallow streetlamps, Clementine was as happy as a clam at high tide and a baboon in a banana tree. Putting it simply, she’s pretty much fuckin’ gone at this point. 

“God, sorry that I pulled a Louis on you.” Violet rubs the back of her head, sheepish. “I talked way too much.”

“Don’t be. Your voice is pretty. I like hearing you talk,” Clementine replies without thinking. This is the very moment where Clementine wishes she _isn’t_ so direct. “I mean. Uh. That was supposed to be for my mind only, so like, maybe ignore what I just said? Wait, don’t ignore what I just said. Take the compliment, ‘cause I mean it.”

Violet blinks at her in surprise. Clementine grouses to herself over her alarming display of poorly executed mental acrobatics, but at least she gets to see Violet’s bashful smile that was verging on a full-fledged grin. “Guess I get to brag to the whole school that their favourite jock called my voice pretty. I’ll just break into the office early in the morning to use the PA system.” 

“Should we make friendship bracelets as proof? Scratch that. I’m thinking pins - a token of our unfortunate associations with our nomenclature.” 

“God, no. That’s so fuckin’ cheesy.” 

Clementine shakes her head in a quiet fit of laughter. She glances up at the sky and the smile on her face slowly fades into a look of awe, entranced by the stars stippled across the sky looking like sugar spilled over black marble. She slants a glance at Violet who was looking at the sky too. She seems to reciprocate the same appreciation for the stars with a look of certain fondness. 

“You know,” Violet says, “My gran’s cottage is at the outskirts of town near the farm fields, and the stars are a lot clearer there. I climb on the roof sometimes to watch ‘em. If - um, if you want sometime, you can come over and like, yeah - stargaze or whatever.” 

Clementine is sure at this point, she looks like a pop-eyed toy from one of those claw machines at the funfair. “I’d love to.” 

Violet smiles a bit, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She looks as though she wants to say more, but thought second of it, and instead ends up saying, “Thanks for hanging out with me, I guess. I’ll - uh, see you Monday. Maybe.” 

Clementine doesn’t move from her spot as she watches Violet leave, ambling down the street in all its liminality underneath the evening afterglow. The moonlight seems to follow after her, swimming in her clothes, before she disappears down the winding road, leaving Clementine to wonder all alone as to why it’s only with Violet that Clementine feels this intangible warmth inlaying a sweet and sticky residue in her restless heart. 

Feeling fuzzy all over, she’s desperately convinced that the dirt she accidentally ingested earlier was beginning to take effect on her health. But when she thinks back to Violet’s smile that embodied a particular gentleness - a kind of gentleness Clementine didn’t see in her smiles towards others, her heart may have did a backflip. And a somersault. And a tumble. Loads of tumbling. 

And that is the exact moment when Clementine goes _oh shit_ and _I think I might like her. A lot. A lot_ lot. _Lots and lots and lots._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [steeples fingers] let the feelings . commence


	3. you're a catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clem: /gays  
> clem: no that's like . platonic  
> also clem: perpetually unimpressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry for this long chapter i . wrote too much (i thought i could finish this as a three shot but now it's probably gonna take more than that dhfjshd)
> 
>  **tw:** underage drinking (nothing crazy or really explicit? expect the romcom lvl of drinking), tiny vague mention of alcoholism, and dick jokes . . .

There’s something weird going on with Violet.

For starters, since _when_ did they make movie plans? They’re sitting at the back of the cinema near the projectioner’s booth, the large screen flickering strips of blue light across their faces. Familiar pixelated figures flash before her eyes but Clementine can’t seem to pluck her brain apart to recognize the film. Rather, everything seems to be vaguely familiar yet unreachable, like a hazy memory buried deep into the crook and cranny of a forgotten childhood. But what’s even more of a strange occurrence is how empty the cinema was. 

Clementine turns her head and looks at Violet - how the blue light frames her profile in an almost dreamlike trance. As if sensing Clementine’s internal confusion, Violet redirects her unnerving gaze onto her. Clementine notices a thin, glossy sheen over Violet’s eyes as though they were laminated, which strikes Clementine as odd, because Violet’s eyes are always, always clear. But then something soft tightens around Clementine’s hand, and that’s when she realizes that they’re holding hands. When did _that_ happen?

Violet leans forward, lips brushing against Clementine’s ear and raising a ladder of goosebumps as she whispers, “You stare a lot, you know that?”

Their close proximity precipitates the somersaults in Clementine’s stomach and she tries to lean back, though there’s only so much space she can use in a cramped theater seat with the chair arm digging into her side. This is weird. _Reaaaally_ weird. Since when did Violet get so - _bold_? 

“No, I don’t,” Clementine denies, though it proves to be futile. Violet doesn’t move away. Instead, she moves _in_.

Clementine sucks in a deep breath. Their faces are dangerously close. Clementine’s heartbeat is spiking so damn high that she fears she’s about to go into cardiac arrest when the sudden cacophony of banging doors and garbled yelling from afar rips the entire cinema apart and Clementine -

finds herself thrashing awake and rolling off her bed with a shout, face-planting onto the hard wooden floor of her bedroom. Clementine lies there, immobile with a blank mind. She can hear the morning larks singing outside. Most of all, she can hear AJ shouting at Clementine without any civil consideration of their neighbors, until she hears her door being thrown open.

“Clementine, it’s Clemen _time_ to wake up! Lee doesn’t have work today so he made pancakes instead of his icky smoothies, and I think they’re the good pancakes, so c’mon already or else I’m gonna - oh, you’re already outta bed.” AJ stops. He shuffles towards her inanimate form and crouches down, poking her in the shoulder. “Clem, are you alive?”

Clementine grunts in response. AJ giggles and runs out of her room, his pattering footsteps heard all the way down the resounding corridor. Clementine slowly lifts up her head and stares at the wall. Then she drags herself up from the floor like an empty vessel before her floating, disembodied spirit finally inhabits her corporeal body once again. Clementine’s eyes snap wide open, embarrassment and dread and complete terror filling her entire body in one, fluid permeation. 

“What,” she whispers, “the _fuuuuuck_.” 

Clementine collapses onto bed in a stupor before she rolls around, burying her face into a pillow and kicking her feet up in growing distress. This is _not_ good. Not Good. Super not good. What the hell was Clementine doing, dreaming about Violet? They haven’t even initiated a friendly hug yet. What makes her hormones think it can just start conjuring up touchy, sappy, romantic, and frankly nice scenarios in her brain? Goddamn useless blob of grey matter. 

Clementine rolls around until she’s wrapped up in her blanket like a sleep-laden sushi roll. She stares up at the ceiling. The Violet in her dreams had soft hands. She wonders what it would be like to hold Violet’s hand in real life - if it could be soft and calloused at the same time.

She groans and vehemently shakes her head. Her inexperience is making her jump to conclusions and exercise her unfortunately wild imagination - all possibly a product of said inexperience, yet her dumbfounded revelation on Friday constantly reverberates in the back of her head in vivid detail that proves her otherwise. 

In fact, ever since Friday passed, all Clementine could do was just think about Violet. Like, that’s it. She can’t even drink tea properly without spilling it all over her favourite jeans because she’ll be too busy wondering if Violet likes tea, and if she does - what kind? And whenever she looks up at the night sky and sees the tarpaulin of stars, she immediately associates them with Violet. And whenever Clementine spots garish graffiti scrawled over buildings gone out of business, she’s reminded of Violet’s own artistic inclinations and how guerilla art sure does tickle her fancy.

No. _No_. This is all part of the process of enthusing over a nicely developing platonic friendship. 

It’s completely platonic. Totally. 

Maybe.

-

Clementine needs expertise. Stat.

Of course, Lee’s special breakfast smoothie consisting of cooked eggs, spinach, kale, and a touch of lemon zest, all blended together until it looks like the prehistoric vegetables turning to petroleum in plastic sacks, disgusted her so much that it shocked her back to logic. AJ ended up eating all the pancakes - that little twerp - leaving Clementine to sacrifice her taste buds in order to humor Lee’s sublime creation. 

Not that she doesn’t appreciate Lee’s enthusiasm for a new hobby that includes a liberal take on cooking, which basically means throwing the most randomest shit together and wishing for the best, but she likes her stomach very much intact and not on the brink of complete annihilation. But she’s got the immunity of an alligator; no vile, inedible concoction can take her down. 

But, right. Back to the crisis. 

Clementine hunts down Louis for answers, first. She reciprocates greetings to familiar faces who congratulate her for winning the Friday game, and perusing through the second floor, Clementine finds Louis leaning against his arm propped up over the locker beside Aasim’s. He was wearing a weird cantaloupe-print shirt that probably costs more than her entire life insurance while looking like a cool hipster tryhard. Clementine closes in until she can hear their conversation.

“Aasim! Is that cup of tea in your hands? ‘Cause you’re a _hot_ -tea.” 

“I know I am.” Aasim deadpans. He holds his thermos up. “But you know who else is going to be a hot-tea as well? _You_ , when I dump this all over your head.” 

Louis feigns hurt and clutches his chest. Clementine has always liked Aasim for a reason. The guy’s a history buff and a grandmaster of _re_ buffs. 

Aasim rolls his eyes and closes his locker after he grabs his math textbook. “If you’re just here to bother me for the sake of bothering me, can you postpone that until the end of graduation? I’ve got my studies to worry about, and your frivolous attempts at flirting with me is like force feeding me cyanide.”

“Ooh, ouch! Merciless once again! Fine, but just so you know - you’re academically certified to swoon my pants in math _any_ time, man. I may not know shit about algebra, but I think it’s hot.” 

Clementine wrinkles her nose. Louis is the reason why she’s convinced that boys are merely anthropomorphic aliens under the disguise of a very well sculpted human appearance, and devoid of complete romantic decorum. Aasim seems to agree too, because he stares at Louis dead in the eye without a word before he walks away. Louis scratches the back of his head like a sad tool. Having watched enough of his misfortune, Clementine finally approaches Louis and jabs him right in his ribs.

“Ow! Oh criminy, what the fuck is this? Fight Club? You _really_ need to stop doing that,” Louis gripes, turning around with a petulant frown on his face as he rubs his side. Then he stands up straight and squares his shoulders, looking a bit smug. “You watched that, right? I think it’s working. He’s definitely falling for me.”

“You’re delusional,” Clementine says flatly, shaking her head. “Why can’t you just - I don’t know, _tell_ him you like him? Aasim seems like the type of guy to appreciate a straightforward approach. Concision is literally his forte - he’s in journalism, for God’s sake.” 

“Look, Clem. Being straightforward isn’t my style. You know why? ‘Cause first of all, I’m as a straight as a pan.” 

“But pans aren’t straight?”

“Exactly. There you go.” 

Clementine rolls her eyes. Louis grins and throws an arm around her shoulder, taking her down the hall, before she remembers why she was looking for him in the first place. Clementine looks up at Louis and wields her unnerving gaze that does wonders for souls with weak consciences. “Hey, Louis. Mind telling me what was going on at Friday’s game?”

“Uh. Whaddya mean?” Louis has two modes of smiles: shit-eating and suspicious. Right now, Clementine can deduce it was the latter of the smiles.

“Don’t act innocent. You were being all weird and chummy with Violet on Friday, and you lied about Marlon too! He doesn’t even have chemistry. He’s in trades.” 

“Oh, my darling Clementine,” Louis sighs and rests his cheek above her head. She restrains herself from pinching him. “You underestimate my integrity! Don’t you get it? We became best friends all because of you. I was being your wingman.”

Wingman? Why would Clementine need him to be her wingman? And for what? It’s not like - oh, shit. Clementine throws her head back and groans. “Louis.” 

“What? You heard me! C’mon, dude. It’s, like, _so_ obvious you fancy her - “ 

“No, I _don’t_ \- “

“ - and you looked like you were about to combust into flames from excessive levels of _gay_ when you were talking to her on Friday.” Louis tugs at the collar of his shirt with a self-congratulatory grin. “So, thanks to your charming and amazing friend, Violet might be pretty interested in niggle swinging into that curly razzle considering I told her how much of a great catch you are - among other things. Let the sparks fuckin’ fly, baby!”

“Oh my God. What are you? A matchmaker on Christianmingle?”

Louis gasps. “That’s my undercover job. How’d you know?”

Clementine opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I’m going to kill you until your discarded, still-steaming pile of entrails are your only recognizable remains.”

“Leave that for Aasim to do, please and thank you.”

“You’re such a - barnacle butt.” Clementine covers her face with a sleeve-covered hand. Great, _absolutely_ great. Louis caught on quicker than Clementine and _she_ was the actual one with the budding and confusing feelings. Taking in a deep breath, she slides her hand down and peeks an eye open, muttering, “Not that I’m, like, enabling you but - is it really that obvious?”

Louis laughs and reaches for Clementine’s cheeks, though she flicks him on the forehead in retaliation and he pouts. “You have _no_ idea. You’re as oblivious as a dim bulb, Clem, but luckily for you, I am fit to be your love guru and guide you on this exciting journey of romance. After all, I totally called it from the very beginning.”

“I don’t think I should be taking any advice from you when you can barely have a normal conversation with Aasim.”

“Okay, now that’s just rude. I totally can.” Louis huffs. “And you know what? Violet legit seems interested. Like, legit _legit._ I mean, sure - she looked like she was on the verge of gutting and filleting me like a fish, but when I mentioned everyone’s favourite Clementine, you should’ve seen the way she instantly paid attention. Not to mention that when you scored, homegirl looked like she was ready to run outta the bleachers and propose to you right there and then with nothing but eighty-two cents in her pockets and a bag of half-eaten Reese’s Pieces.”

Clementine’s face is radiating heat like a hot pan. “You’re just making shit up.”

“Excuse me. I’m a storyteller, not a _liar_.” 

Clementine gnaws on her bottom lip in thought. Violet? Interested in _her_? Clementine doesn’t know if she should humor the thought if all it does is give her sweaty palms and an unholy amount of endorphins. 

“If you don’t believe me, then go ask Bro - _brooooo_. Bro. You’re my bro. My _bro_ tato.” Louis laughs nervously as he punches Clementine in the arm. “My bro. Phew.” 

“You were totally gonna say Brody just now, weren’t you?”

“What? Of course not! No way. Why would I say Brody? Can’t I just have a moment of appreciation for my fellow brethren? Well, will you look at the _time_.” Louis pulls up his sleeve to check his wrist - which, does _not_ have a watch again. “I gotta go! Choir awaits me.”

Clementine frowns. Louis doesn’t have choir practice on Mondays. Before she can question his blatant lie, he dramatically blows her a kiss goodbye and dashes off, running towards the staircase at the end of the hall and leaving her alone to comprehend the weight of his words about Violet. Clementine isn’t sure if she should be agitated at the ridiculous assumption he planted in her head, or his flighty behaviour that totally explains why her friends have been so suspicious lately. Louis and Brody are _definitely_ in cahoots, and for what - Clementine doesn’t know, but she’s going to get to the bottom of it. 

But first, she’s going to think about Violet. Clementine looks down at her hands. Yeah. Just _think_.

-

Scratch that. Abort the thinking.

Clementine likes Mondays, contrary to the student body’s collective hatred aimed at the weekday. She finds a simplistic beauty in a new beginning born from an ending. Though, call it a wishy-washy poetic mindset if you will, but Clementine thinks that she at least deserves to experience a phase of wannabe fake-deepness. But Mondays are also the days in which Clementine has history.

And, oh yes. Mr. Mainland. 

Like, fuck that guy. At least Lily Mainland treats Clementine with respect and an acknowledgement of her skills, but Mr. Mainland is a sore loser who apparently can’t accept defeat. He’s been pointedly ignoring her raised hands to questions, skipping her when handing out worksheets, and blatantly projecting a biased perspective on colonial America. Clementine asserts herself as mature and levelheaded, but Mr. Mainland sure does know how to get underneath her skin. 

Lee didn’t work his ass off for Clementine to continue school just to attend the class of a bigot who’s built like a capri sun with a large, bulbous nose and a tan resembling Neapolitan ice-cream. Of course, Lee also didn’t work his ass off for Clementine to accumulate an ill reputation among the teachers, known as the straight-A student who can’t keep her mouth shut. But keeping silent was like playing darts with spaghetti - absolutely impossible. 

That’s how Clementine finds herself outside of the principal’s office, holding a mockingly bright yellow slip in her hands, after interrupting Mr. Mainland in the middle of his lecture to tell him to go fuck himself. 

(And also that if he was on fire and she had water, she’d drink it.) 

Clementine works her jaw. She was justified in her defiance, but in retrospect, she _did_ see a whole week of detention coming. Now, she’s never going to hear the end of Javier’s poor attempts at reprimanding her like a father who’s as useful as a screen door on a submarine. But Clementine supposes her punishment is a lucky one, considering the principal omitted a possible suspension due to her consistently bright grades, work ethic, and leadership in the baseball team. Not to mention that the principal also hated Mr. Mainland’s guts, but they were working on it. 

Expectantly, the word spreads faster than Chapman’s fastest pitch. Clementine barely gets to her lunch table when Mitch, the friendly asshole who usually smells like weed, offers her a high five.

“Keep it coming, Clem. Hearing Mr. Mainland sputter like a raving ape tripping on acid is a fucking treat. Asshole deserves it.” He grins, shark-like. “I used to think jocks were a bunch of dumbasses, but glad to know that you ain’t one of them.” 

“I _am_ pretty dumb,” she agrees.

“True.”

Clementine glares at him as he laughs and walks away. Not even a minute later after Clementine sits down at her usual seat, Brody comes barreling in with a distressed look on her face, prodding Clementine for answers and ranting about how Javier’s going to get his knickers in a twist when he hears that their ace player won’t be present for the majority of practice because of her unfiltered ripostes. 

Clementine does feel bad for jeopardizing practice and is perpetually dreading the restlessness coding her limbs for being unable to do anything in a stuffy classroom, but seeing Mr. Mainland’s jaw hanging so low it might have been dislocated by the verbal battery was _definitely_ worth it. 

“Gosh. You sure do have a silvertongue on you.” Brody purses her lips, tapping her feet with a fidgety demeanor. While Clementine was eating her sandwich filled with an unnecessary amount of avocados and what looked like olives - Goddamnit, Lee - Brody says, “Well. Your growing troublemaking tendencies aside, what do you think about a party?”

Clementine side-eyes her. “Party?”

“Yeah! It’s an Ericson tradition to always celebrate after a win against Delta. And plus, it’s a great way to bond with the team, don’t you think? Ruby and I were thinking we’d hijack Louis’ house ‘cause he’s filthy rich, but don’t you worry your pretty head - it’ll only be the team and a few close friends.” Brody waggles her eyebrows. 

Clementine chews in thought. She’s not exactly a party-type. The only thing she’s done that can be considered remotely ‘wild’ was when she was hanging out at her neighbor’s house and Duck had dared her to try a sip of Hennessy from Kenny’s liquor cabinet, only to spit it all out afterwards. In retaliation, Clementine had put a bug in Duck’s pillow. Justice was served, that day. 

“I guess it’s a nice way to wind down,” Clementine finally answers. “When?”

“Friday!” Brody exclaims. Then she leans forward, clasping her hands together. “Mind doing me a teeny, tiny favour again?”

Clementine narrows her eyes. She knows that look. And she’s definitely not going to let her heartbeat accelerate at the thought of - shit, it’s accelerating. “Let me guess. You want me to convince Violet into coming too?”

“You’ve read my mind, Clem! Look, I know it’s a little annoying, but I swear on everything that is holy that she listens to you without avid complaints. Like, I haven’t seen her warm up to anyone so fast like she did with you, and it makes me absolutely _thrilled_.” Brody claps her hands. “You two are getting along so fast and well that my heart turns to complete mush. I feel like a proud mom, sometimes - you know?” 

“That’s a little weird.”

“Hm. You’re right.”

Clementine sighs. “Fine.” Her mouth is still open with questions concerning the fishiness revolving around her and Louis ready to roll off her tongue, but Brody immediately interrupts her with a loud _hurray!_ and squeezes Clementine in yet another bone-crushing hug. 

“You are _the_ best, Clem, and I cannot stress that enough. I’m gonna let the team know right away and tell the others. Hell, I’ll tell Mitch too.” Brody gets up from her seat, thrumming with euphoria, and sings, “Have fun at detention!” 

Clementine watches Brody leave and takes a begrudging bite out of her sandwich. She doesn’t know why her friends keep mentioning this _effect_ she has on Violet; do they think Clementine is that stupid to buy that shit? 

Yes. Yes, she completely is, and it’s making her palms sweaty and inciting a bunch of satan-spawned moths to chew at the insides of her stomach. _So much for expertise._ But never in her life has she been more excited for detention than right now.

-

“No. _No._ You gotta, like, make them knobbly and ugly.”

“But balls are supposed to be perfectly circular.”

“Clem. External round appendages of the biological male human body are _nothing_ like the balls you hit in baseball.” 

Clementine frowns. She erases the failed product and attempts to sketch another depiction to capture Violet’s vision. Then, she adds in the finishing details. “How about now?”

“Better.” Violet takes the pencil from her hands and studies the drawing. “There. We just drew Mr. Mainland as a ballsack with a weedy mustache. He looks like one sinful son of a leper’s donkey whose wangle doodle got caught in someone else’s poo cave.”

Clementine stares at her in both complete disgust and admiration. She’s barely had the proper time to process her feelings, but Clementine is pretty sure that Violet’s foul mouth is one of the many reasons why she’s so endeared by her. “One day, I’m gonna have to pull a Magic School Bus and venture into your brain to browse through your rolodex of hate.” 

Violet smiles complacently. “Not sure my B-lymphocytes would be a fan of that, but thanks.”

Clementine doesn’t know what the fuck are B-lymphocytes but it sounds smart. Violet is super smart. Clementine likes smart people. 

While Violet flips to a new page in her sketchbook, Clementine glances at Mr. Lingard’s who’s snoring like a steam engine, and is strange to feel so much gratitude for an incompetent teacher who’s letting her freely interact with the possible object of her affections. 

As soon as Mr. Lingard had knocked himself out to dream land, Clementine had crept towards Violet’s hunched figure, scribbling away at the pages like she always does, and managed to catch a glimpse of familiar eyes scratched in grainy graphite before Violet noticed her hovering presence and slammed nearly all of her body onto the page to cover it. After mutual bumbling and awkward apologies, Violet discreetly flipped to blank page in her sketchbook, offered her the pencil, and declared an artistic collaboration between the two of them. 

An hour has passed and so far, they’ve made dick caricatures of Mr. Mainland, Mr. Carver, and Mr. St. John after sharing stories and experiences they’ve had with them when Clementine told Violet the reason why she was imprisoned to detention for a whole week. Truly the epitome of productivity. 

They move onto drawing Mr. Lingard. Instead of drawing glasses this time, Clementine adds in bald spots and a hairy case of mutton chops. 

“Ta-da!” Clementine says brightly. “Fluffy balls.”

Violet bites down on a laugh and ends up snorting. “He _is_ into pussy, and not in the socially acceptable way.”

Clementine grimaces. Ignorance is definitely bliss. She needs to bleach her brain. 

Violet grins and flips to a new page. She watches as Violet sketches a fluid outline of a new drawing, and muses, “Even though we’re only drawing dicks, you’re a really good artist.”

“I’m - uh. What? No. I’m just decent.”

“Decent is a goddamn understatement from the millionth realm of hell.” 

“In case you’re forgetting, Clem, _you_ make up the other half of my artistic ability.” 

Clementine gives her an unimpressed look. “All I do is add a bunch of sparkles, but fine. Whatever you say, Pablo Picass _bro_.” 

Violet regards her poor pun with a look of puzzlement and amusement. Clementine can feel her spirit leaving the earthly plane, dissolving into nothing but flecks of dust like dandelion fluff, when she realizes that she just inadvertently _bro_ -zoned Violet. Clementine wants to do nothing but set herself on fire. 

But a fond smile quickly takes form on Violet’s lips, softening the harsh edges of her stark eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ _lame_.”

Clementine is going to die. Violet is not good for her heart. “Louis. I blame Louis.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve definitely been hangin’ around him _way_ too much. I’d like him more if it wasn’t for the hole in his mouth that noise comes out of.” She snorts. There’s no bite to her words despite the jibe, but Clementine immediately recognizes the similar teasing manner in her voice that’s often audibly exchanged in her circle of friends. 

“Aw. You absolutely adore him, don’t you?” 

“I - what? _No._ He’s so goddamn annoying.” Violet is a terrible liar. 

Clementine grins, folding her arms across the table as she leans forward. Violet looks a bit startled. “Well, you two _are_ best friends now. And, uh - best friends do everything with each other, like going to parties! So, you wanna come to one?”

“If you haven’t noticed,” Violet says as she gestures at her outfit consisting of the same denim jacket worn over a black hoodie this time, her ripped jeans having more holes in them than Clementine’s social aptitude, “I’m pretty sure I give off a vibe that I _don’t_ go to parties.” 

“It’s not a big party, though. Brody said it’ll just be the baseball team and a few friends, and I think it’ll be fun since it’s just gonna be us, don’t you think?” Clementine sees the way Violet’s face twists into that of irritation at the mention of Brody. Violet casts a glance aside in contemplation, tapping the pencil in her hands against the surface of the page while bouncing her leg. 

Clementine ignores the swell in her stomach and musters up the courage to go on with a shrug. “And, um. I dunno. I’m not a party type either, so I think it’ll be nice to have someone actually sane to talk to when I’m pretty sure the rest of them are gonna be too busy getting hammered.” 

Violet bites on her bottom lip. Clementine stares at her, wielding her puppy eyes that’s also known to be a formidable power of hers, and watches as Violet grows increasingly fidgety at it. Clementine knows she’s won when Violet finally lets out a groan and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus. _Fine._ I’ll go to Brody’s stupid jock party.” 

Clementine has to refrain herself from yelling out in victory, so she simpers and silently throws her hands up in the air with triumph. Violet scoffs and shakes her head with a tiny smile, and Clementine takes that as a sign of friendly resignation. This is good. _This is good._ They’re moving past the stammering awkward phase. That _has_ to mean something, right? 

At the end of detention, they make their way out of the school together - an unspoken routine that’s become familiarized. The weather is becoming warmer and brighter, the approaching summertide colours negotiating with the setting spring sky. They stop by the school gates since they lived at the opposite sides of town. Clementine is mentally practicing her manner of farewell - simple as it is, but knowing how alike the severation between her brain-to-mouth connection is to Louis, Clementine can barely trust herself to say goodbye like a functioning, normal human being. 

But then Violet is rummaging through her pockets, looking like a tomcat about to scurry away in a matter of seconds. She takes out a slightly quivering fist, hesitates, then opens her palm and takes one of the mystery objects out before she tosses it at Clementine’s chest. “Think fast.”

Clementine fumbles to catch it with a surprised shriek and saves it before it can fall onto the ground. “Be a little gentle, will you?” She grumbles out of petulance and takes a better look at the object. It’s a button pin of a clementine placed against a starry background. 

Clementine blinks. She looks at the pin. She looks at Violet. She repeats the process until she’s certain she’s about to get whiplash. With her brain in overload mode, its executive function was to simply stare, unable to formulate a coherent sentence in response without speaking like there was cement in her mouth. Violet looks terribly uncomfortable. 

“Look, I - thought I’d try out your idea.” Violet holds the other pin up - one with a purple flower pasted against the same background, though darker. “You always look at my pins too, so. I dunno. I mean, they’re fuckin’ sappy, so just - take it if you want it, I guess. Or throw it away. Whatever, go nuts. God, this is really weird. Sorry.”

Clementine immediately shakes her head before Violet nabs at the wrong impression, but her breath catches in her throat and inhibits her from speaking for a moment, so she looks back down at the pin. She rolls it between her fingertips in awe, the quiet tempo of her heartbeat following the warmth that blooms in her chest akin to the feeling of flowers weaving through her ribcage. 

“I love it,” Clementine finally says. She looks at Violet who has her brows slightly furrowed, lips set into a thin line, and Clementine can’t help but laugh. “Seriously, I do. Thanks, Violet. You made this?” 

“Graphics class has its perks.” Violet relaxes a bit, relief scrawled over her face. She puts the flower pin back into her pocket. “It’s no big deal.” 

“You say that as though it’s really that simple.” Clementine snorts, wondering where to put the pin on display. “You literally made us couple pins.”

Violet goes as red as a beetroot and stiffens. Clementine wills the ground to open up and swallow her down. Heat spreads throughout her chest and into the roots of her hair. She _seriously_ needs to think before opening her mouth. “I mean. That’s not what I - um. Hm. That - was supposed to be just for my head again. Please ignore that for real this time. Wow, I’m just going to -- uh. Go to practice? Yeah. _Yeah._ Gonna hit some balls, ha. Okay. See you? Right. See you.”

And because Clementine is the worst person to ever interact with when she’s overwhelmed by giddy feelings, she flashes Violet a pair of finger guns and books it out of there, hoping to whatever resides above the heavens to come down and knock her out with a metal bat for completely embarrassing herself. 

But she’s never felt happier than now, with the pin collecting heat between the folds of her closed palm and the timbre of Violet’s earnest heart echoing behind her. Even at night, when Clementine is laying in bed with the dim glow of her lamp on, she’s stares at the pin held in the air with delicate fingers for fearing of ruining its lacquered finish. 

Clementine likes to think that it’s still warm from Violet’s touch. Nicely warm - the kind of warmth Clementine would bask in like the clothes taken right out of the drying machine, draping all over her shoulders. Or the kind of anticipatory warmth that arrives at the first couple of seconds on a rollercoaster with the cart going slowly up the lift hill, making Clementine’s heart accelerate as she’s building up the strength to scream. But then there’s also the feeling of wondering if she can’t turn around now; if she can’t press the stop button and slide back down; if she can at least stay in this spot for a little while longer. 

But Clementine realizes that maybe, just maybe, she’s already starting to fall.

-

Detention drags the days behind like cold molasses, imbuing her limbs with lethargy. The most boring days are when Violet skips school, leaving Clementine all alone to pass time by watching Mr. Lingard sleep and drool, resembling that of a depraved monkey in the middle of a hooha. It’s not the best way to spend two hours of her day, but she does end up practicing until eight in the evening to make up for what she’s lost since the sun has started to set a little later. She’s capable of practicing even more, but temporal limits have its way of prohibiting her.

But come Friday night, Clementine ends up gaining information she’d never known before more than she bargained for, and wishes brain bleach truly existed in this generation. 

When the sky begins to stretch into a darkened expanse of blue, Lee drives her out to Louis’ purple farmhouse mansion located in an open green area, away from the residential area of town. Stopping at the driveway, Clementine is taking off her seatbelt when Lee clears his throat, donning his stern-father look that doesn’t look stern at all.

“Now, Clem. I don’t mind you having fun with your friends, but try not to drink, okay? And if you do - please, not so much.” Lee lowers his voice. “I remember when I was your age, I drank so much that I ended up puking all over the dress of my sweetheart at that time. It was horrible - Jesus, it was in my nose too. I spent all night just tryin’ to blow all the shi - leftover puke out, but you know what I mean.”

“No sweat, Lee,” Clementine reassures him. “If anyone tries to peer pressure me, I’ll pour their drinks into their pants and set them on fire. I’ve got it all under control.”

“ _That’s_ my girl. Take care of your buddies too, alright?”

“Of course.”

“Call me immediately if anything happens.”

“Gotcha.”

“Don’t let anyone drink and drive.”

“Understood.”

Lee clenches and unclenches his hand on the wheel. He looks conflicted over what he wants to say next, sending uncertain looks over to Clementine before he tentatively opens his mouth, “And use protec - “

“Thanks for the ride, bye!” Clementine hurriedly stumbles out of their beat up camry to escape the impending agony. Not that they haven’t had the _talk_ yet, what with the birds and the bees and all, but Clementine likes having a perfectly pristine mind that doesn’t include the mechanics of babymaking. 

Louis’ farmhouse mansion looks like what it’s expected to be: rich. It’s a six-acre property with a spectacular paint job and its own private drive amongst the fields, trees, and rolling hills. The last time Clementine went to his house, she remembers very clearly there being a home theater with leveled seating and a projection screen and his pet turtle Geoff inhabiting a fancy and comfortable tank. Clementine has always wondered what kind of job his parents do for a living to be able to earn so much. Louis hardly talks about them.

She jogs up the porch and knocks on the door, hearing the faint rumbling of voices from behind. She’s greeted by Louis in his adornment of a pink silk robe over navy pajamas with turtle prints on them, holding a tulip-shaped glass filled to the brim with dark red liquid. Clementine raises a brow at him, unimpressed, as Louis beams. “Hey, Clem! Fashionably late to the party, I see. You’re the last one to show.”

“I didn’t know parties had a set time,” Clementine retorts as she’s let in, kicking off her shoes by the rack. “Are you drinking wine?”

“Nah, this is cranberry juice. What? I swear!” Louis exclaims. “For the record, I’m a lightweight. If I get plastered, I’m probably gonna end up peeing in my mom’s ficus, and I am _no_ animal. I can take care of my litter properly, thank you very much.” 

Clementine wrinkles her nose at the unwanted imagery. Louis frowns as he scans her outfit, undoubtedly about to make a petulant comment over her predictability, but then he does a double take so fast that he almost spills his drink. “Clem. I know I give you shit for always wearing that letterman jacket, but are you wearing a pin of _yourself_?”

She glances down at her jacket. She’s been having a hard time deciding where to put the pin, but ultimately decided on placing the pin above the quilted patch of the school’s emblem. Her face is warm as she shrugs, trying to feign nonchalance. “Uh, yeah?”

“Oooh, punny. I like that.”

She’s half-grateful and half-scared that Louis doesn’t pry further. He beckons her into the kitchen where an assortment of alcoholic drinks are splayed out in an unruly manner over the island. Clementine hears mingled, loud voices and laughter resonate from outside in the living room. Her attention is diverted when Louis holds a can of beer in one hand and a box of apple juice in the other, asking her to take her pick. Clementine chooses the apple juice.

Turns out that majority of the baseball team couldn’t make it because of curfew, strict parents, and other plans, making it a party of eight instead. When Clementine is herded into the living room, she’s barraged by a chorus of enthusiastic greetings by the group all scattered around the chenille sofas and the carpeted floor. But the first person Clementine notices is Violet sitting beside the dormant fireplace, back leaning against the wall while nursing a cup of water in her hands. Clementine’s face grows even warmer when Violet offers a tiny wedge of a smile. 

Brody is conspicuously looking between Clementine and Violet with an elated smile before her eyes flicker to Louis. Clementine chances a glance at him, who’s wearing a shit-eating grin, and out of pettiness, she pinches him on the thigh before taking a seat at the suede armchair by the gold valance. 

“Clem, you’re finally here! I was startin’ to think you chickened out or somethin'.” Ruby beams, her cheeks looking extra ruddy. She frowns when she spots the apple juice in her hands. “Why are you drinking _that_? You can at least go a day without being a health nut, sweets.” 

“You say that, but wait until I’ll be shoving an IV into all of your asses to insta hydrate you all.”

Marlon looks a little queasy. “I don’t really like the sound of that.”

Clementine laughs quietly, shaking her head. “So, what were you guys talking about?”

“Dicks.” Louis plops down on the floor beside Violet. “We were talking about dicks.”

Violet rolls her eyes so far back they almost disappear. Ruby shakes her head and Brody’s face grows red. Mitch, on the other hand, screws up his face in repulsion. “Dude. I have enough dick talk back at home. My little bro’s in the peak of puberty, and all he constantly talks about is masturbation. Like, go activate your horny shit somewhere else where nobody can see _or_ hear you.” 

“Jesus fuck, Mitch.” Violet grimaces. “We seriously didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, _now_ you know, rip-off Tinkerbell.”

“Shut up, fuckin’ lettucehead.” 

Louis pipes in cheerfully. “We were talking about Dwayne Johnson’s dick, to be specific. I’m not saying he’s got a green anaconda in his pants or anything greatly impressive, but it’s all in the execution, isn’t it? The dick is only as big as its wielder - it’s how you use it.”

Clementine regrets ever asking. She stabs the straw into the box of apple juice and sips on it contentedly. Aasim looks seconds away from either throwing his can of beer at Louis’ face or downing the entirety of it to numb himself out from the conversation. “You know what _you_ are, Louis? A first-rate festering dicksore.” 

“Oh my God. Did you just flirt with me?”

Everyone winces. Aasim chooses to down his can of beer. Louis looks lost. “What? It’s just a thought!”

“No, Lou,” Violet deadpans. “You’re just a _thot_.”

At some point, the subject of dicks becomes exhausted and Louis turns on the large television to watch a basketball game. When Brody had mentioned a party, the first thing that came to Clementine’s mind was a Mean Girl-esque party with broken vases, rowdy music, raging pheromones and a lot of heterosexual activity, and not exactly a small gathering of dweebs bonding over beer, an intense Golden State Warriors game, and friendly shit-talking. 

Clementine watches them more than she participates in their lively conversations as they get progressively drunker, and wonders if she can bask in this moment of mindless happiness and sense of belonging. But if she did, then it wouldn’t be a moment anymore. 

Ruby is rolling up her sleeves and flexing her arms as soon as a spontaneous arm wrestling competition springs from a sparking rivalry between her and Louis, but rather than paying attention to them, Clementine notices Violet leaving the living room in the corner of her eye. She hesitates for a fleeting moment before she finally gets up from the chair and follows after Violet, going unseen by the rest of the group too busy cheering Ruby on. 

In the kitchen, Clementine finds Violet rummaging through the cabinets with intense concentration. Her pinched expression relaxes immediately at the sight of Clementine standing awkwardly by the threshold. Clementine juggles for words to say, but then the distinctive pin standing out amongst the cluster of colours on Violet’s jacket catches Clementine’s attention, and her lips quirk up into a smile. “Hey. Nice pin.”

“I like yours too,” Violet huffs a quiet laugh with a smile of her own. She turns her attention back to the cabinets and takes out a bag of spicy cheetos. “I’m hungry as fuck. Guess everyone only thought about the drinks and not the food. Typical.” 

Clementine throws her finished juice box into the recycling bin before she approaches the island where Violet is ripping open the bag before refilling her glass of water, avoiding the packs of beer strewn across the counter. “I’m guessing you’re not a fan of drinking?”

There’s a pause. “Not really.” 

“That’s cool. Me too.” Clementine nods, thoughts suddenly turning ponderous. It brings her back to the memory of a disillusioned man with blue eyes. “I knew someone who liked to drink a lot.”

Violet doesn’t respond but offers the bag of cheetos to Clementine, keeping her eyes fixed to the wall in front of her. Clementine smiles in response and takes a cheeto. “You enjoying your time so far?”

“Oh, yeah. I enjoy being reminded of how I’m in a completely different social strata with this fancy as fuck house when I’ve only got eighty-two cents in my pockets.” Violet watches quizzically as Clementine ends up choking on a cheeto, startled by the astounding accuracy of Louis’ bullshitting. Goddamnit. “I’m pretty sure the spoons here costs more than my entire life savings - if I even have any.” 

Clementine clears her throat, hoping her face cools down any moment now. “You should see his pet turtle Geoff up in his room. Even a reptilian is living a more luxurious lifestyle than us. But he’s cute.” 

“We should start a GoFundme page for Geoff so he can usurp Louis.”

“Smart. A turtle won’t be able to spend its money on four different pairs of Gucci slides.” 

“ _Fuckin’_ Gucci.” 

Clementine grins at her exasperated intonation. “It seems like you’re pretty close with everyone else.”

“Not like Brody and Ruby. I’m only familiar with the guys ‘cause the two of them drag me out with them at any given chance. Mitch pisses me off most of the time when he _isn’t_ stoned, and Louis just - he’s Louis. Marlon’s hair looks like shredded wheat and Aasim - well, he’s manageable.” Violet glances at the living room entrance and sighs. “But I guess they’re not too shabby.”

“I _knew_ it. You’re a total softie.” 

“Fuck off.”

Clementine laughs. “Well. If it counts for anything, _I’m_ happy you’re here.”

One thing that Clementine has succeeded in discovering from recent observances is that Violet’s stare isn’t always intentionally cold; her face merely lacks the mobility others had to present a visceral warmth. But watching the edges of Violet’s mouth curve into a smile - unusually soft for someone who has a cutthroat retort on standby and wielded words like a sharp weapon - makes Clementine feel just as warm from the inside out like the tinge of a clover burnt from a kiss of the sun. 

“Not to, like, digress or whatever but - you know Brody.“ Violet fiddles with the flaps of the bag of cheetos as she bites the inside of her cheek, keeping her eyes low. “She’s vocal about a lot of things, but the one thing she never shut up about when you first joined the team was how genuine you are. And… I guess - yeah. She’s right.” 

Clementine blinks, oblivious. She’s about to open her mouth and ask Violet what she means by that when Louis interrupts them by the threshold with a look of defeat while rubbing his arm with a pout. “I just got decimated by Ruby. How the fuck is she so strong? Does she even _lift_?”

“Guess you’re neither brawn, brains, and beauty,” Violet quips. 

“Oh, you’re fucking hilarious,” Louis grumbles, walking in to grab the packs of beer. “Now, not to dampen your little anti party in here - hey, those are _my_ cheetos - but we’re playing a game now, so c’mon! Get your juice packs or something.” 

Seated in a circle on the carpeted floor, Clementine manages to snag a seat between Violet and Brody after Brody had bulldozed Ruby in the side, passing the momentum onto the others like falling dominoes to make space. Brody has never been a proponent of subtlety, much to Clementine’s dismay, and it’s even worse when she’s tipsy. But never has Clementine been more entertained in her entire life than at this particular time of the night. 

“Never have I ever doubted my heterosexuality,” Marlon announces. 

Clementine watches as everybody drinks. She tentatively raises the straw of her new box of apple juice to her lips and sips from it. 

“What?” Marlon exclaims. “ _Seriously_?” 

Louis winces. “Golly gee whiz, dude. You’re the token straight friend, aren’t you? Nowhere near the rainbow spectrum? Kept tight inside the straight stratosphere?”

“C’mon, Marlon. You’re, like, at _least_ a lil gay,” Brody says. 

“I’m super gay,” Violet mutters underneath her breath. Clementine chokes on her apple juice.

“Well, I watched gay Sonic the Hedgehog porn by accident once.” Mitch shamelessly takes a sip from his beer. “It was fucked up, but that was when I knew I was a flaming bisexual. Maybe you just gotta find _your_ Sonic the Hedgehog porn, Marlon.”

Clementine belatedly covers her ears as Ruby yells at Mitch to shut up. Clementine chants _brain bleach, brain bleach, brain bleach_ in hopes that she can will it into existence.

The game moves on. Clementine has her ears covered most of the time because all of them were weird and way beyond unholy. Once it was her turn, Clementine struggles to find something to say while being watched by eager and curious eyes. But when she does find an idea, she wonders if it’s worth the impending embarrassment and possible patronization, but she’s got nothing better.

“Uh. Never have I ever,” she sighs, “dated someone.” 

They all gape at Clementine before downing their drinks. Clementine notices that Violet hesitates for a moment before she drinks from her water bottle, but the wide-eyed look of disbelief Violet gives to Clementine makes her want to never resurface from the earth. Brody is the loudest about it, though. When swallows her beer, she nearly shrieks, “What the - the _fuck_ you mean you haven’t dated? _What_?”

“I really find that hard to believe.” Aasim narrows. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit is you implying that Clem’s a liar,” Ruby retorts. Aasim blanches and quickly takes what he said back.

“Oh my God, Clem,” Louis gasps. “You’re a baby.”

Clementine sputters, her face going hot. “No I’m _not_.” 

Louis erupts into laughter and throws himself back until he’s on the floor. “You are! You totally are. That’s absolutely adorable. I’m going to die.”

“I thought jocks dated all the time,” Mitch says drowsily. “They’re collectively like that one fucking ripped redhead from Riverdale.” 

“Clem, you’re like - you’re _Clem_! And nobody from any of your past schools asked you out? _Nobody_? That’s fuckin’ unbelievable. You’re, like - spectacular. I can’t - _what_?” Brody shakes her head, unable to comprehend such a fact. Clementine finds it silly, embarrassing, and maybe a little flattering that Brody thinks that way. 

“It wasn’t a priority or anything,” Clementine mumbles, refraining herself from chucking her juice box at Louis who was still laughing and giggling to himself. “I mean - like. I just wasn’t - there were nice people, but I wasn’t really interested. There, case closed! Can we move on, now?” 

The embarrassment passes as her question becomes forgotten in the back of their heads. Clementine is relieved that they’re now occupied with Violet’s statement of never finishing a jawbreaker and Aasim never bragging about something he hasn’t done, but as soon as it was Louis’ turn - Clementine takes one good look at his smug smile and feels dread permeate her entire body. 

Louis raises his glass of cranberry juice and declares, “Never have I ever had a crush on Clem!” And then he drinks.

So does everyone else. 

Except for Violet, who looks like a rabbit caught in a snare and a reaper about to scythe the guts out of Louis. But Clementine is too busy staring at everyone else with her eyes blown wide with complete shock, mouth flapping open and closed in an attempt to string together a sentence but ultimately failing to do so. 

Louis is grinning like an idiot as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Mitch looks completely drunk but solemn, as though questioning his past taste in girls. Marlon smiles a bit guiltily, Aasim goes red and stammers about how it was natural curiosity, and Brody wiggles her eyebrows at Violet and makes weird faces. Ruby is the only one who appears to be unbothered by it. Clementine kind of wants to disappear. This is weird. Really, _reaaally_ fucking weird. Clementine did not need to know _any_ of that. 

“Wait. Aasim?” Louis drops his grin. “You crushed on Clem? What? How come I didn’t know that?”

“Come _on_. It was only a millisecond of a crush.” 

“Crushes are still crushes no matter how short it was!”

Brody leans back with a playful smile as she speaks to Violet, “The only thing _I’m_ curious about is why - “

“Gotta pee.” Violet hastily springs up from her seat and hurries out of the living room. Brody pouts and shares a furtive look with Louis. 

Clementine, on the other hand, chews on the straw of her apple juice. She scrunches up her nose. “I’m flattered, uh. Thanks, I guess? God, this is the most weirdest thing ever. Can we _please_ never talk about this ever again?”

“A-fucking- _men_ ,” Mitch says and raises his can of beer, but burps with the heedful force of someone who was worried he’d vomit. Marlon grimaces and inches away from Mitch while patting him on the back out of concern and fear. 

Mitch’s potential barf fest turns the tide of the conversation and the circle disperses. Clementine finishes four juice boxes in a trance, unable to apprehend what had just happened. She could have lived a peaceful life without knowing that all of her friends have had a crush on her. Clementine doesn’t even know _why_. All she does is hit balls and bad mouth incompetent teachers, and forfeits all mortal possessions for merely a single chocolate milkshake at the local diner. Hell, Clementine doesn’t even know where she wants to go for post-secondary. Where’s the appeal?

She scratches her head. What a strange goddamn night. 

At one point, Brody gets into a heated political debate with Marlon and Aasim; Mitch ends up planking on one of the large window sills with a daybed while Ruby is trying to coax him into drinking water, telling him that he was drunk as fuck. He exclaims, “I swear to drunk I’m not God!” 

Clementine has her arms crossed when she sees Louis bounding over towards Clementine with a puckish smile. “Vi seems to be taking quite a while in the bathroom,” he says. “Wanna check on her?”

“I know what you’re doing.” She levels him with an unimpressed stare. “I would kick your tiny ass if you weren’t housing a bunch of teenage drunks, so I hope you find a spider in your sandwich, toe sucker.” Clementine leans to the side and calls out to Aasim, “Hey, Aasim! Louis sucks toes!”

Clementine walks away with a shit-eating grin as Louis’ imploringly denies such an accusation, though Aasim seems to believe Clementine immediately as he questions Louis’ physical interests in distress. Snickering to herself, she leaves and ends up trying to search for Violet, maneuvering through the house that resembled a contemporary labyrinth. Clementine walks past formal family photos in gold-rimmed frames and Claude Monet paintings hanging on the yellow walls. The upholstery and Persian rugs looked so expensive that Clementine was afraid to step on it.

In her short-lived quest, rather than finding Violet in the bathroom, Clementine runs into her approaching the front door with her car keys in hand instead, her feet halfway of slipping into her black sneakers. Violet looks slightly startled at the sight of Clementine, but then she quickly bends down to lace up her shoes. 

“You’re leaving already?” Clementine asks, leaning her shoulder against the wall with her arms folded. 

“Yeah.” Violet leans back, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She looks a little flustered, for some reason. “I - you know. Just kinda tired.”

“Me too,” Clementine sighs. She takes out her phone and checks the time, while noticing a string of excited messages from AJ talking about Totally Spies. “Maybe I should call Lee to pick me up now.”

Violet perks up, eyes bright with a certain shine to them that denoted eagerness. “I can give you a ride home, if you want. I don’t mind. Driving in the dark is like opening the fuckin’ closet in a horror movie, so the company would be nice.”

“Sure.” Clementine laughs, throwing a glance behind her shoulder in thought of letting Louis know. Then she shrugs and figures she can just text him. All that apple juice is starting to make her bladder ache. God, she really needs to pee. But she looks back at Violet with a smile. “Thanks.”

Violet’s car is a red starlet with chips of paint falling off at the sides from the talon-like scratches. As Clementine settles into the passenger seat, Clementine tells Violet how she finds comfort in knowing that she’s not the only one who’s terrible at driving. Clementine launches off into the story of how when she was practicing for her driver’s test with Lee, she ended up swerving into the wrong lane and almost hit a tree. And the other time she was attempting to pull into a parking spot but ended up colliding with the car next to her, resulting in duct taped headlights of Lee’s poor camry. Clementine failed her driver’s test two weeks after.

“Oh, they better have failed you,” Violet says, alarmed as she pulls out of the driveway. “I can’t fuckin’ drive for my life, but you’re way fuckin’ _worse_. Remind me to never get in the same car as you when you’re the driver.”

Clementine deflates. “That’s what they said too.”

The ride back to town is quiet, aside from the old rock songs playing quietly from the radio. Three pine air fresheners hang from the rear mirror. Zelkova trees blur in the rush, their silhouettes carved from the moonlight. Violet hums along to Vince Neil's energetic voice. Clementine looks up at the sky, disappointed at the invisibility of the stars. She recalls Violet’s offer of stargazing from her grandmother’s cottage and wonders if that’ll ever happen, if these inhibitions towering over them will crumble down before summer comes - before graduation comes. 

Clementine blinks. She’s forgotten about that. Their forthcoming graduation looms over her head like a rain cloud receding into the heavens, out of sight but ever so present. Clementine has known all her life that relationships are impermanent - ephemeral and wistful in the sense that nothing really lasts, that efforts are wasted in the wake of distance. But Clementine doesn’t know how to feel about _this_. She likes the friends she has now because it’s the longest she’s ever known anyone. She likes this town despite its foibles, likes the baseball team and the trust established between the members, the halcyon neighborhoods and tightness of the community, the seaside and the farmer’s market. 

Most of all, she likes _this_ \- with Violet, with getting to know her, befriending her, unfolding the secrets of her heart and mannerisms bit by bit, star by star. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Clementine looks to the side. Violet sends her a quick glance before her eyes find the road again. Clementine realizes that they’re already halfway to her cape cod house. “Just thinking about baseball.” 

“Wow. Is that an pastime for you?”

“A very dangerous one.”

Violet snorts. 

As soon as Clementine’s house appears, Violet pulls over and accidentally hits the curb. Clementine raises a brow and Violet grumbles at her to shut up. 

“Thanks for the ride.” Clementine smiles as she takes off her seatbelt. “Come over sometime, actually. Lee likes testing out his cooking recipes on new tongues. Don’t worry, though. We’ve got Pepto Bismol and the hospital on speed dial.”

“That sounds terribly ominous, but okay.”

Clementine grins and steps out of the car. She stops in the middle of moving away from the car when she notices the window of the passenger seat sliding down. Curious, Clementine leans down and tilts her head. “What’s up? Did I drop something?”

When Violet opens her mouth, a breath hitches in her throat and she bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes trained to the front in thought. The inside of the car is percolated with shadows from the dim glow of the interior lights, framing her as a dark silhouette. When Violet seems to have garnered enough courage, she finally looks at Clementine in the eye, a crescent of light outlining the curve of her face and tracing her sharp features. 

“I didn’t drink because he said it in the past tense,” Violet says. 

Clementine stares at her quizzically. Before she can ask for clarification, Violet was already rolling the window up and revving up the engine. She drives away without giving Clementine the chance to register her words and provide a proper response, leaving Clementine to dwell on it alone. Goose bumps are on her arms from the evening wind, the green shrubbery looking almost black, silhouetted, as if they had been drained away - as if the colour palette had been changed.

It doesn’t click until Clementine sees the first star of the sky flicker into life from afar, faintly bright as the pink on Violet’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all SO MUCH for reading !!!! <3 i am so . happy all of u are enjoying it so far and wow !! 200 kudos ;___; tysm ! i hope this won't end up disappointing u !!
> 
> (also: to those who actually like larry nd are reading this fic . im sorry hsjdhs)


	4. ballin' in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're DUMB  
> but they also get to know each other more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the one thing i hate about writing multichapt fics is that i have to go back and reread my monstrosity in order to remember how to keep them all in character jdfshjd idk how to feel about this chapter but !!!! i hope u all enjoy and thanks for all ur love as always!!! <3
> 
> (i forget to mention but the title of the fic is literally from bad suns' song "daft pretty boys" but like . u see what i did there ? yes) 
> 
> ( **tw** : mentions of alcoholism & abandonment)

Clementine watches as Brody flops dejectedly onto the bench like a couch potato in the gravy boat of life, wearing blue-tinted sunglasses on a Saturday morning when the sun hasn’t even reached its peak yet. She’s wearing her uniform backwards and is currently griping about an unrelenting headache. Ruby, on the other hand, looks deft and ready to maul her own teammates in a practice scrimmage - a competitive spirit that never truly dies even in the summit of exhaustion. 

Brody turns on her side and lets half of her limbs dangle from the bench. She groans. “Why the fuck is the sun out? God, I took medicine but my head still hurts. It’s like a javelin went through my eye and out the back, like somebody grabbed my head and was tryna crush it with their thighs. I mean, I wouldn’t totally be opposed to it, but - ”

“Okaaay,” Clementine interrupts her loudly. “Let’s not have this kind of conversation at eight in the morning. How are you feeling, Ruby?”

“Sharp and dandy,” Ruby says and juts her chin out in a self-satisfactory manner. “The perfect recipe to bein’ hangover-free is to eat a fuck ton of bread and to drink lotsa water. Louis had a bunch of whole wheat in his kitchen. You should’ve taken advantage of that, sweetums.” 

“Oh, please. I’d rather do more dignified productive things late into the night, like mindlessly deepthroating baseball content until I pass out.”

Clementine needs to buy ear plugs and keep them in at all intervals to avoid unnecessary images sprouting from their excessive use of sexual metaphors to convey their teenage catastrophes. Ruby tells Brody that she should drink holy water instead, and with the thought of leaving them be, Clementine is just about to start off her morning laps when Ruby stops her with an inquisitive look.

“Not to sound nosy like a mother-in-law booking herself in the honeymoon trip of newly weds, but how are _you_ feeling, Clem?” Ruby asks. “Your eyebags look so heavy they can be considered carry-ons at the airport.”

“Wow. Thank you for the astute observation, Ruby.”

Brody perks up, finding the strength to turn around and face Clementine. “Oh my God, I just remembered. It was a pretty fun party, right? The best I’ve been to! Drinks, games, a lot of secrets unfolded - “

“ _Please_ don’t remind me of the fact that you two had crushes on me.”

“C’mon, you totally saw it coming. The entire team fell in love the moment you cussed the living shit out of Crawford. You calling them the cockiest spongelicking dictatorial shits ever from the dugout? That was, like, heavenly.” Brody shrugs happily. “But the most important thing of all is that you and Vi left the party early. _Together._ So, what’d you guys do? Say? Anything happen at all? _Hmmm_?" 

Clementine rolls her eyes, though it doesn’t quite encompass the twirl in her stomach. Shadows sat beneath her eyes like smudges of ash, having been unable to sleep properly last night - or a few hours ago, considering the transition into the realm of time where it was both late into the night and early in the morning fucked up her circadian rhythm - because of, well, _Violet_. 

One thing that Clementine often resorted to when faced with an uncertainty surrounding a problem is to burrow said problem into the deep recesses of her mind and wait for a solution. Her mastery in compartmentalization and overanalysis often clashed, but the former often came out as the victor. It’s pretty much how she’s come so far in bullshitting her way through predicaments. 

But the thing with Violet is that there was _no_ solution. Zero. Nada. Zilch. There was nothing to hide away from, to push aside and wait for her brain to conjure up a solution as though the tenderness in her heart was an equation that needed to be solved and get rid of - no, it was visceral, constant, so completely _present_ that demanded her attention and focus, persisting urgently like a colony of E. coli growing on room-temperature beef. 

(Clementine wrinkles her nose. A bacteria and meat analogy? Truly not her best moment.)

Violet’s vague words reverberated so vividly in Clementine’s mind that all she could do at three in the morning was stare at the walls, trying to solidify a meaning out of her words, until she could see specks of faint colour in the darkness intertwined with the dim afterglow of the moonlight leaking through the shutters of the windows. She’s looked at walls for so long that she was beginning to think that it’s become a part of her identity. 

Besides, what else was she supposed to do? _Sleep_? 

There was always the option of texting Violet. Clementine has her number - to which she has stared at for hours of rumination. But the last time Clementine tried to text Violet a message consisting of a simple _hello_ , she ended up accumulating seventy-nine drafts from opening, editing, and closing it out of inexplicable indecision. She ended up never sending it. 

It was weird. It wasn’t supposed to be weird. She was on the brink of feeling confused and hopeful, happy yet ambivalent, lost but discovered. If somebody had told Clementine a few years ago that she would make a whole fool of herself because of her fluctuating feelings ranging from softness to complete panic for a girl who’s named after a goddamn purple flower, Clementine would have thought the planet had reversed its rotation around its axis. 

And the thing is: Clementine considers herself to be fearless, lionhearted - anything but cowardly, but she’s experienced nothing like _this_ before. And it is because she’s never felt this way before that she’s unsettled with the unfamiliarity, the unknown, and maybe with Violet too. 

“Cars,” Clementine says. “We talked about cars.”

“What? No way! Vi said you guys talked about how you endanger society by being put behind the wheel!"

"Then why're you asking _me_ if you already asked her?" 

"I dunno. There's always two sides to a story, Clem!" Brody exclaims. “I refuse to think you guys only talked about cars. Like, Vi hates driving and _especially_ hates her granny’s car. Why would she talk about cars? Why would she subject herself to such a torturous topic? Just like how she hates baseball, but still comes to the games because - “

Ruby slams a glove over Brody’s mouth to stop her from continuing, and as Clementine watches Brody’s eyes widen in a bout of realization, it does nothing but make Clementine more confused.

“So she _does_ hate baseball?”

“Uh, no she doesn’t,” Brody laughs nervously, darting her eyes around. “Vi? Hating baseball? Psh, _no_. That’s a felony. Of course she loves baseball - duh! You know what else she loves? Girls. She loves girls. Yes. Oh, will you look at this? It’s a miracle! I’m feeling amazing already.” She sits up quickly and nearly topples over, grimacing with a look of absolute pain that denotes the complete opposite of what she was saying, but she continues on, “I’m cured by Ruby’s kiss of g _love_!” 

“I’m ‘bout to kick your little ass way over yonder the goddamn moon next if you don’t stop yappin’ at this very moment.”

Clementine narrows her eyes at the both of them. “You two have piqued my suspicion, but be grateful for your hangover, Brody, ‘cause I’m gonna let this pass. For _now_.”

“Understood, captain!”

Their questionable behaviour is something that Clementine has grown accustomed to, but pair that up with Violet’s ambiguity last night, it deems to be a great distraction to her state of mind during practice. 

Clementine misses nearly half of the pitches, hits a lot more foul balls than ever conceived, runs into fences when she’s suddenly seized with the image of Violet’s apprehensive face of courage in the dark, trips over bases and loses possession of the ball - all because of a string of words that doesn’t quite offer _any_ closure to the questions buzzing uselessly in her head. Clementine is thrown off-kilter, as though baseball is no longer embodied in her pulse that ricochets unevenly at the obscure revelation she can’t bring herself to dissect and comprehend. 

At least Clementine’s doing better than Brody; she’s been bumbling around like an old lady who’s lost her second pair of contacts. But that doesn’t deter Javier from bellowing criticism at their sloppy performance while praying to the gods that this doesn’t affect their game with Richmond at the end of the following week. His hairline seems to be receding every time Clementine messes up a play. At this point, he’s gonna go bald. 

The most disquieting thing is having her feelings - of all the distractions in the world - interfere with her performance when it’s never happened before. Clementine doesn’t know what to make out of that, but she knows it is _not_ good. 

So, she calls in the expert. Again.

Of course, the last time she called for expertise, she was met with tomfoolery and conspiratorial behaviour. But Clementine knows that underneath all that jest and humor, Louis is a reliable soul who holds a lot more wisdom than he lets on. Sometimes.

Clementine waits for him in the afternoon next day at one of the red-cushioned booths of the diner while nursing a tall chocolate milkshake. The diner was left to its quiet discretion with its flickering neon lights running along the streamline exterior, highlighting the stainless steel panels in a town that so often reflects against the surface with its own variation of sunlight. She nearly chokes when she’s startled by his sudden appearance outside the window, doing Pennywise’s stupid weird jig, before he skips right inside in all his cheerful disposition. 

“The Batman to my Robin, my _bro_ seph!” Louis opens up his arms as he arrives at their booth, settling in the seat across from her. “What a lovely day to - “

Clementine greets him by delivering a kick to his shin underneath the table as retaliation to Friday night’s drinking game. Louis yelps in response, though he still has the nerve to say, “Jesus hot sauce, Clem. Were you just playing footsie with me?” 

“The only footsie I’ll be playing is putting my foot up your ass.”

“I’m not really into that, but whatever floats your boat.” When he’s met with an impervious stare, he relents. “Fine, fine! Let’s not stick a pickle up my butt now with that withering look. Just so you know, _I_ should be the one giving you that face. It took me the rest of the night to convince Aasim that I’m not actually a toe sucker. Like, I fucking hate feet.”

Clementine sticks her tongue out. Louis rolls his eyes and calls for a strawberry milkshake from one of the waitresses passing by. She sips on her chocolate one, letting her eyes wander around the quaint and retro interior as the clinking silverware and 80’s rock music from the jukebox fills in the empty spaces of the diner. 

“Well.” Louis clears his throat and leans an elbow on the table, resting the side of his face on the palm of his hand. His eyes probe for a crack on Clementine’s steady expression. “I’m pretty sure you called me out here for a reason, and using my flawless detective skills, I’m guessing it's either about Friday, Violet, or both?” 

Clementine plays with the straw of her milkshake, the words still circulating in her mind and not yet able to flow outward into the world, but she forces the doubt away. Leaning forward, she makes a steeple out of her fingers and blurts out, “How did you know that you like Aasim?”

“Wow, straight for the jugular!” Louis laughs, but quickly resigns when he receives a lukewarm stare. He leans back with an arm propped over the top of the booth, donning a sudden bashful demeanor that looks entirely out of place with his usual shameless self. “Um. Okay. So, like, you’re serious.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Can’t believe I’m gonna talk about my feelings right after church. The things I do for you,” Louis grumbles, but straightens his posture and tugs at his collar. “I mean, it’s different for everybody, but I guess _I_ knew the very moment he called me a dumbass and my heart did this weird thing. Since then, I’ve been head over heels.”

Clementine stares at him, unsure of whether or not to be concerned. Louis laughs at her face. “Ha, alright, fine! Story time. It was in tenth grade - ”

“Oh my God, you’ve been crushing on him since - ”

“Shhhh, don’t interrupt me. As I was saying, it was in tenth grade when it happened. I got into a huge fight with my dad ‘cause he was all about the family business, and I was all about being _against_ the family business. I wanted to do music and he was, like, a total assdick about it. I got frustrated, discouraged, and because he said I was never going to go anywhere with this silly dream of mine, I pretty much gave up and trashed my composition book.” 

Louis pauses when the waitress returns with his milkshake in hand. He quickly expresses his gratitude to her and takes a sip. “Long story short: the next day, Aasim showed up at my locker, threw the book at my chest, and called me a legendary dumbass.”

“What?” Clementine blinks when Louis doesn’t continue and merely sips from his milkshake. “That’s it?”

“Hey, it was enough to get me out of that funk, okay! What else were you expecting? Some Teen Wolf shit where I fall in love with his furry claws when he turns out to be a werewolf under a full moon? I wish.”

Clementine levels him an unimpressed look. He pouts a bit, drumming his fingers against the table. “Okay. _Fine._ Aasim could have ignored me like he always did, but he went through all the trouble to tell me that I’m great at what I do, and that my music makes other people happy. I mean, we were never really close or anything in the first place. We only talked ‘cause he was friends with Marlon. But then he saw something good in me when I couldn’t, and - _fuck_ you, this is so embarrassing - he made me realize that I shouldn't change my dreams for anyone else because my dreams are for _me_ only. So when he called me a dumbass, it was like I got struck by a love arrow.” 

Louis is now stabbing his milkshake with the straw. “But then I called him a raccoon for taking my book outta the trash - what? Humour is my defense mechanism! - and that’s when he kinda started to permanently hate me.” 

Clementine sighs. To think that _she_ was the most useless person in the whole wide world when it came to the matters of the heart. “Louis, I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You just - you gotta show him this side of you more: a little more vulnerability and a lot less clownery. Of course he’s never gonna take you seriously if all you do is joke around.”

“It’s my default setting!”

“Just like how getting gassy is your threat response?”

“Um, I don’t fart. I just blow you a kiss from my ass.” 

“That’s _gross_.” 

Louis grins. Clementine heaves a deep sigh and balls up a napkin before hurling it at his face. “You know what? You should just ask Aasim to prom. Get it all laid out up front.” 

“Uh, yeah _right_. Aasim’s a social snob. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do things like prom.”

“You never know unless you try.”

“Enough about me. Why don’t we move on to _your_ crisis, now? I bet it revolves around one person whose name rhymes with pilot and riot.” 

Clementine feels her hands get clammy and face heat up. “I - I’m not - it’s not a crisis. Okay, maybe it is, but I don’t know. It’s all _your_ fault.” She ignores the offended noise he makes. “The party. She - I don’t know what it means, but during that stupid goddamn game, she said she didn’t drink because you said it in the past tense. Like, what the fuck does that mean, Louis? What does that _mean_?”

Louis stares at Clementine. He blinks. Blinks again. Then he throws his hands up and _squeals_. “Oh my fucking gracious God, hallelujah! She _likes_ you. She literally - she literally fucking confessed! Holy shit, she made those pins, didn’t she? Those sappy pins of your names - she did! She fucking did! I’m gonna cry. She literally _indirectly_ told you that she has a crush on you, Clem. What part of that did you _not_ get, dumbass?”

“What? No way. No, no, _no_. How do you even know that?” Clementine is _sweating._

“She spelled it out for you, moron. Past tense would mean that she doesn't have a crush on you anymore, dude. Do you understand? I’m going to have an aneurysm, Jesus fuck.” 

Clementine gripes at how incapable she was of processing this entire situation. Louis grabs his head in a moment of agony, before he swipes her a long-suffering glance. “Okay, okay. Fine. _Hypothetically_ speaking if that _was_ a confession - how would you feel?”

“Me? I - I don’t know. It’s not supposed to go this fast, is it? We haven’t known each other for that long. I think I’m just confused. Like, not about my sexuality ‘cause been there done that already, but like. I’ve never had these _feelings_ , you know?”

“Well, you should take into consideration that friendship and how well you connect with someone isn’t measured by time, and shouldn't be.” 

“I know. I _know_. But it’s unnerving. She’s already like a - like a goddamn inhibitor.”

Louis stares blankly at her. “Sorry, a _what_?”

“You know, like? Competitive inhibition? She’s the inhibitor, I’m the substrate and the enzyme is my objective. Whether it’s trying to study or watch Totally Spies! with AJ because he's on a cartoon binge, or trying to listen to my optometrist and look at the trees or some shit, or like yesterday when I couldn’t even play _baseball_ properly because I kept thinking about her - she always somehow manages to pop up in my mind and distract me! Just like how an inhibitor molecule prevents the binding of a substrate molecule to the enzyme, _she’s_ preventing _me_ from focusing!”

There’s a brief silence that subsequently permeates the space between them. While Clementine is collecting her breath, Louis finally cracks his stoicism and collapses into a heap of shrill laughter in his seat, disappearing beneath the table. Clementine’s face burns to the highest unit of the Scoville scale. 

“I _can’t_. That made about as much sense as tits on a bull,” Louis wheezes as he repeatedly slaps a hand against the leather-bound cushion of his seat. “You _totally_ like her, Clem. You totally do. You gotta accept it, man. I can’t fucking breathe, holy shit.”

Clementine buries her face into her hands. She listens to Louis laugh at her demise and drags her hands down in misery. “Louis, I’m gonna pour this milkshake all over you if you don’t stop laughing right now.” 

Louis manages to sit up, clutching his stomach with one hand while wiping his tears with the other. “Clem, I love you, but you’re so fucking clueless. The both of you are. You and Vi share one brain cell that’s as useful as the ‘p’ in raspberry.” 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re romantically stupid and should strengthen that dry-spaghetti spine of yours to, like, fucking get it!”

“Get what?” Clementine is growing impatient. “Get rejected?”

Louis rolls his eyes to the ceiling and makes a quick prayer. “You need lesbian Jesus.” But then his gaze flitters to something behind Clementine, and a wily smile grows on his face. “But you know what? Why don’t you tell that whole inhibitor-substrate la-di-da to Vi herself?”

Clementine frowns in confusion, a declination sitting on the tip of her tongue, when Louis nods towards the background and Clementine turns around. She freezes, her eyes growing wide and mouth hanging southbound when she catches a blonde figure step into the diner in an all too familiar gait. 

Violet slouches by the doorway with her arms tucked into the front pockets of her jeans, and when her head begins to move towards their direction, Clementine instantly panics and dives beneath the table without thinking, knocking her hat off against the tabletop in the process.

“Whoa, what the hell are you - ” 

Clementine frantically shushes him. “Pretend I’m not here!”

“But she literally _saw_ you.”

“So? Who cares? Just say I escaped through the back and went to the mall!” 

“The mall’s a fucking hour away, Clem. And for the record, I am _not_ a lia - oh, Vi! Hey, fancy meeting you here! Wow. Love the, uh. Outfit. Do you ever wash that jacket?” Louis’ uncanny ability to fluidly switch demeanors came in handy at the most bizarre times.

Clementine can see Violet’s legs up close across from her, shifting weight from foot to foot. She stares down at Violet’s boots splattered with dried paint as they carry on a conversation, but pinches Louis’ calf when he tries to kick Clementine and almost scuffs her nose with the tip of his sneakers. 

"You ever hear of a drying machine before? Guess not, since you’ve got a maid that does all your shit.”

“Touche.” 

Violet snorts. “What are you doing here?” 

“Me? Well, I’m just chilling and brainstorming, you know, for new ideas.”

“Really, Lou? With two half-finished milkshakes?” Violet sounds dubious but mostly entertained. “What’s Clem’s hat doing here?”

 _Shit_ , Clementine mouths. Louis laughs for an exceedingly long time as a way to stall and formulate an excuse. “Oh, Clem’s hat! Right, well. You’ll be the first one to get in on this, Vi, but I’ve found a new hobby: Clementine cosplay.”

“Clementine _what_?”

“You heard me, dude. Clementine _cosplay_.” 

Clementine smacks a palm over her face. She hears Louis blunder around before he curses, and Clementine doesn’t quite understand until she watches with impending dread as Violet takes a step back and crouches down. There’s an amused look on her face as she rests her elbows on top of her knees, holding Clementine’s hat in her hand. “Hey.”

Clementine is sure she looks like a deer caught in the headlights as her heart lurches to her throat. Her soul leaves her body, ascending towards the astral plane and further beyond because she immediately wants some otherworldly extraterrestrial life form to take her dumbass right fucking now. “Violet, _hi_. Hey. Hello. Um, I was just - you know, trying to find a coin I dropped ‘cause you know me. I’m clumsy, ha-ha.” 

“Mhm, okay.” Violet glances up at Louis, clearly scrutinizing their disastrous facade. She must possess an impeccable bullshit detector too. “Are you just gonna stay down there, then?”

“Maybe,” Clementine mumbles, hugging her knees close to her chest as she feigns looking around the ground for the fabricated coin. 

“Okay. Well, I need to take a shit,” Louis announces brazenly and stands up from his seat. Startled, Clementine hurriedly wraps her arms around his legs, making him stumble and yell. He starts to pry her arms off of his legs. “C’mon, I legit gotta use the potty! If y’all forgot, I’m actually lactose intolerant.” 

Clementine hisses at him that he’s not, but he succeeds in escaping Clementine’s grasp by forcefully shimmying out of the booth. Louis straightens the collar of his shirt before he ambles towards the restroom, whistling a happy tune that makes Clementine want to throw the compartment of condiments at the back of his head. 

Now, here she was, dreading the magnitude of her life choices while hiding not-so-stealthily underneath the table with Violet silently idling beside it, because of course - who the hell would know what to do in this kind of situation? Clementine had the luck of about eighteen broken mirrors and a herd of black cats running past. 

After a moment of basking in her own mortification, Clementine slowly crawls out from underneath the table. She dusts off her shorts and clears her throat, trying not to squirm when Violet asks, “Couldn’t find the coin?”

“No.” Clementine manages a nervous chuckle, chanting to herself to not make this awkward. “It’s sadly lost to the dust bunnies.”

Violet smiles, lifting the baseball hat in her hand and perching it gently on top of Clementine’s head. “I’m sure the dust bunnies appreciate your contribution.” 

Clementine blinks at the unexpected gesture. Violet reciprocates the same look of surprise, as though she’s only realized what she’d done, and quickly retreats her hand. Her smile dims, replaced with an overlay of consternation, and shifts her gaze to the side. A silence falls over them as they fidget around. 

It's awkward. Really, really, _painfully_ awkward. 

As Clementine fixes the hat to fit properly, she runs through her inventory of possible scenarios and apprehensive thoughts. Should she act like nothing happened on Friday? Or would that make things worse? Or would pushing Violet to talk about Friday make it even _more_ worse? Where did they stand now? Was what Louis said really true or was he just riling up her buttons? Should Clementine believe him? But what if he was wrong and Clementine ends up embarrassing herself into oblivion? Was Violet thinking the same thing too? 

But Clementine can’t let this discomfiture between them broil forever. Their silences has never been uncomfortable or awkward and Clementine doesn’t want that to change. Clementine needs to be direct. She needs to ask about Friday, she needs to ask about Friday, she needs to - 

“You come here often?”

\- goddamnit. 

Violet raises her brows, though the tension eases away from her shoulders. “Depends. Gran’s too busy with her garden sometimes and all I can do is butcher scrambled eggs, so I grab her lunch instead. Plus, she’s got a new friend in the garden that takes up so much of her time. There’s this frog that comes out every time she waters the plants and it would croak at her. It only stops if my gran gives it a tiny shower, and now, a frog named Peppermint lives in our garden like some protective sprite.”

“That is absolutely _adorable_.”

Violet laughs quietly, shrugging. Her eyes softened as she talked her grandmother and Clementine can’t help but distantly wonder how that’s like. 

“She sounds really sweet.” Clementine hums. “I have to meet her sometime.”

Violet’s muscles bunches. For a heartbeat or two, she remains quiet in what seems to be deliberation, chewing at her bottom lip to the point where Clementine fears she’s going to start to bleed. But then Violet finally opens her mouth, pink rising to her cheeks, “You can. If you want.”

“I - sorry?”

“Uh. I mean. The weather said that the sky’s gonna be super clear on Wednesday. And I _did_ mention how it’s really cool to look at the stars from my gran’s cottage, so. If you want, do you wanna like - come over after practice or something? We live at, like, an acceptable geographical proximity, so you don’t have to worry about travel.” Violet shoves her fists into the pockets of her jeans, then takes them back out in a bout of indecision. She settles on crossing her arms instead. “Or not, if you’re busy. Like, that’s completely fine. I mean, it’s probably stupid, but - ” 

“ _YES_ ,” Clementine blurts out inelegantly to the point of even startling Violet. Clementine immediately shrinks back. Every time she opens her mouth, she puts her foot in it, and nothing sounds better right now than to absolutely perish. 

“Oh. Okay? I - sweet. Nice. Awesome. Cool. Alright.” 

“Absolutely. Coolio. Yes.”

Violet’s eyes are still wide with lingering astonishment. “Then, I guess I’ll just meet you at, uh. Where?” 

“Depends if Mr. Mainland isn’t being an asshole. Maybe I’ll meet you at detention instead.”

“Right. I’ll make sure to draw a bigger dick in the stalls on Wednesday - the true zenith of symbolic vulgarity and the perfect conduit to piss off the old folks.”

“Always sticking it to them, huh?” Clementine laughs. “I’ll text you.”

Violet nods, lips curving into a smile that can probably melt steel, traveling up to her eyes that crinkled into crescents. “Yeah. Okay.”

In a daze, Clementine watches as Violet goes off to order lunch for her grandmother after saying her goodbyes. She was expecting her stomach to do internal acrobatics - for the vultures to swoop in and attack, for the hammering of her heartbeat, the magpies in her chest to unfurl, the sweat to build up on her forehead and her face to flare up with heat, but it only feels as though the sun hiding behind the clouds has replaced her heart, pumping flames instead of blood. 

Oooh, _yeah_. Yeah. She’s fucked. 

Louis comes back with a sneaky smile, looking far from being drained in the toilet, while following Clementine’s gaze to where Violet was leaving. “Damn. I’m convinced that I was Cupid’s son in my past life. I should totally start a love business. How’d that go?”

Mystified, Clementine says with a blank face, “I think I’m dying.”

“Perfect! That’s stage three of a crush. Buckle up, dude, ‘cause things are already getting serious.”

“What was stage one?”

“Being a fucking idiot, although that’s pretty constant throughout the stages,” he chirps brightly. “You know what, Clem? Maybe _you_ should ask _her_ to prom. I’m thinking, like, a sparkly banner: holographic letters, rhinestones, glow-in-the-dark paint, a ton of rainbows, and a bunch of fucking glitter. Oh my God, scratch that. What about a country theme promposal? Rent her a mechanical bull. Put her in a cow print suit and fucking yeehaw all the way into your honeymoon.”

“Louis, the day I grace your horrendous suggestions with a single one of my brain cells is the day I’m going to prison because I realize you say and suggest things that only someone who has lost everything would take into consideration.”

Louis playfully shoves at her shoulder. Clementine gives him a mere look of vague, ominous doom, before she shoots her hands out and violently tickles him on the sides, sending him scurrying away in a high-pitched scream. When it comes to Louis, many of her vindictive strategies include tickling that results in an almost ninety-nine percent success rate. 

While he's escaping her evil fingers, Clementine continues to bask in her dappy stupor, finding herself completely immersed in wishing for Wednesday to come sooner.

-

“Okay, what about this?”

“Heavens, no. That looks like a Coachella conundrum on a bleach blonde who’s part of the Manhattan upper echelon.” 

“Fine. How about this one?”

“That dress is so tight I can see her religion.”

Brody and Ruby were currently exchanging contrasting opinions on dresses as they browsed through Brody’s camera roll, while Ruby was in the middle of demolishing her paperboard plate of cafeteria-quality french fries. Clementine, on the other hand, was sipping on her yakult drink, zoning in and out and fluttering off into dreamland because today? Today was special.

Today. Is. _Wednesday_.

Clementine inhales her drink through the wrong pipe and ends up sputtering, hacking away into the crook of her elbow. Her coughing fit immediately attracts their attention. Ruby pauses in her systematic destruction to level Clementine a curious stare while her throat was whining laboured breaths like an old engine. “Sug. You okay? You’ve been smiling at nobody while looking happy as a puppy with two peckers.”

“Peachy keen,” comes her strained reply. 

“Oh my God, I think this would look amazing on you, Clem,” Brody beams as she holds her phone up beside Clementine, which was a frilly, sparkly, fluffy, and frightening dress that looked like an epic disaster. “Doesn’t it look great? I mean, do your hair a lil’, put on some makeup, accessorize and bam! You’re prom ready.” 

Clementine wrinkles her nose. The last time she attempted at makeup, she looked four shades lighter. Finding foundation for her kind of complexion was an excruciating chore. “Can’t I just wear a tracksuit?”

“Wh - _no_! That’s fucking horrendous!” Brody exclaims in horror. “That goes against prom etiquette! Clem, we gotta go all out. It’s our last year and we deserve to leave this hellhole with a big booyah to these suckers. Tell me; it's already close to prom. Do you have anyone in mind you wanna ask to go with you? Say, like, a certain _blonde_?”

“Look, I honestly don’t know what gives off the vibe that I’ve got the hots for Marlon, but I seriously do not - ”

Brody grabs her head and nearly screeches. Ruby looks on with disgust. “We’re not talkin’ about Marlon, you dingleberry. You and Louis are so different yet y’all share the same level of romantic intelligence.” 

Clementine pouts, still clueless about what they’re alluding to. But then she shrinks a bit in her seat, suddenly becoming bashful when she asks another question, “Hey. Uh. Would you happen to know if Violet’s going?”

"Vi’s been anti-prom since she was born outta her momma’s womb,” Ruby says flippantly, side-eyeing Brody who seems to be painfully holding herself back from speaking as she clamps her mouth shut. “But I mean, with the right amount of persuasion, maybe she’ll end up showin’ up. Who knows?”

Clementine nods, keeping the information stored in the back of her brain. Ruby rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Brody. “How ‘bout you, Brody? If you’re such a prom enthusiast, do _you_ already have a date?” 

Brody’s ears grow slightly red. “Uhhh. Hm. Well. I - yes? Maybe? I want to. The twins. I mean, not the twins - I mean one of them. Not both.”

“Twins?” Clementine repeats in confusion. She’s never heard anything about twins before.

“Right right,” Ruby says. “You weren’t here to meet ‘em, Clem. They switched schools the year before you transferred here. They were super artsy and sweet, but had to leave ‘cause they moved outta the school district. I think you three would’ve gotten along well.”

“How come you guys never mentioned them before?”

Brody and Ruby share a look. Brody springs into a fretful explanation. “I - uh. It’s a long story? Well, I wouldn’t say long story, but let’s just say something happened between Vi and one of the twins. I don’t think we’re allowed to talk about it ‘cause it’s Vi’s personal business, you know? Like, she doesn’t even like me telling people she shops at Hot Topic to buy their pins ‘cause they’re always on sale but I mean, I get it, ‘cause shopping at Hot Topic is a guilty pleasure. I’d totally shop there too if the music there didn’t give me a sensory overload. I _do_ think the earrings they have are pretty cute and - oh my God, I just told you she shops at Hot Topic.”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay. I won’t tell her,” Clementine says reassuringly, “Thanks for letting me know as much as you can, Brody.”

Brody beams, but then her shoulders deflate and the sparkle in her eyes is wiped away by disappointment. “Aw man. I just realized that I probably won’t be able to ask Sophie, then. Totally goes against the best friend code.”

Ruby consoles her with a pat on the back. Clementine wishes she can just use a rod and reel in the answers from them from how fishy and ambiguous they often act.

But moving onto the rest of the day, Clementine can’t seem to focus as much as she usually does. She finds herself restlessly fidgeting in her seat, bouncing her leg, not quite processing the words of her teachers but was present enough to keep it tucked in her mind for later, and checking the clock every three seconds that made it look like she had a crick in her neck. Even Ms. Wilson, her cynical Family Studies teacher with a pixie cut, seems concerned for Clementine’s unusual fixation on the time. 

Contrary to what Clementine had insinuated, however, she ends up detention-free - which is to be expected of course, considering she isn’t a problem child in the first place. A gift from the heavens bestowed upon her an assembly during history class, giving her the opportunity to remain scot-free and an ocean’s breadth _away_ from Mr. Mainland. 

The unfortunate thing about the assembly is that she was stuck in the uncomfortable chairs of the auditorium for an hour and a half, listening to her principal with a perpetual pasty complexion prattle away at graduation preparations. She saw Louis sending her signals from the middle aisle of the seats, and Clementine can only wish she had enough middle fingers to tell him how she feels. 

But then that leaves her with a grueling task at the end of the school day: 

Texting Violet.

She’s got her message ready: _Hi Violet, this is Clem. I was a child of god today so I won’t be @ detention, but I’ll meet you at practice!_

Was she too bubbly? Was she too formal? Was she trying too hard to be funny? Was she _even_ funny? 

Clementine slams a thumb over the airplane symbol out of impulse, sending the message, before she jams her phone into the pocket of her jeans right after. Her heart is rattling in her ribcage, but she pushes her concerns away. She grabs her belongings from her locker and makes her way to the field for practice. 

When she’s halfway to the park, her phone vibrates multiple times. Pausing in the middle of walking, Clementine takes in a deep breath and checks her phone.

**Violet (Today at 3:19PM)**  
_> ure a demon dont lie_  
_> guess i drew that big ass dick for nothin_  
_> im joking i didnt draw any big dicks but mr. carver can eat ugly ass_  
_> but yeah i’ll see u at prcatice after detention_  
_> practice* fuck_

Clementine realizes she was grinning foolishly in the middle of the sidewalk. She sends an annoying block of clown emojis as a response before she pockets her phone again, and continues her way down the street with a bounce in her step.

-

It really was a clear day. And there’s always something about a sunny day, with heaven--bound birds gliding across the infinite blue, that fills her with vigor.

Clementine picks up her act; she regains her momentum and achieves an optimum performance for practice. Javier looks relieved that her focus has returned after a sudden bout of incompetence, but it doesn’t stop him from yelling offhanded comments to keep the rest of the team pushing harder during their defense scrimmage.

Clad in dirty and muddy practice clothes, Clementine cools down with a few stretches as soon as practice ends and spends a bit of her time idly chatting with her teammates, giving out pointers to what they can improve on. Once that’s done, she quickly goes to the washroom and changes into clean clothes. As she walks out, she spots Violet lounging at the bleachers with her head ducked down towards the sketchbook on her lap. Without much thought, Clementine hooks her bags over her shoulders and heads towards the stands, catching Violet’s attention from her approaching footsteps. 

Violet slams her sketchbook closed and springs up straight like a stiff rod. “Hey, uh. Hey. You’re done. You looked pretty angry down there.”

“Well, Javier asked me if I was working hard or hardly working and I wanted to throw the ball at his head,” Clementine jokes. “So. Was detention boring without me?”

Violet snorts and shoves her sketchpad and pencil into her backpack. As she’s walking down the steps, Clementine is suddenly self-conscious of how sweaty and gross she may smell. She slabbed layers among layers of deodorant over her pits for a reason today, but perspiration is a stubborn body odor she wished didn’t exist when Violet was standing at a detectable proximity. 

“It was, but not anymore now that you’re here.” Violet smiles timidly and tucks her hands into the front pockets of her stone washed jeans. Clementine’s face grows warm; she thinks she should do more stretches in order to cool down. 

Violet nods to the sidewalk. “C’mon, let’s get going. I think gran’s cookin’ timballo for dinner.”

Though the prospect of the cottage seems far, Clementine realizes that it’s the shift in surroundings that makes it seem that way when it only takes twenty minutes to get there by foot. Walls of compact houses lessened as they reached the edge of town, where the road was lined with tall feathers of grass and cornfields. They walked along the bone-rattling teeth of the washboard roads, and eventually, the cottage comes into view. 

When Violet mentioned a cottage, Clementine had expected the cottage to be one of those old, rusty ones on the verge of falling apart in somber fairy tales, yet when they arrived at Violet’s home, it was nothing on par with her imagination.

The cottage was tucked low into a grassy embankment, cocooned by an abundance of vibrant flowers in large shrubs, vines of overgrown clematis flowers draping over the slate roof and climbing the trellises, and neatly trimmed hedges that winded a pathway towards the entrance of the cottage. It looks colourful and alive with a thin silver trail curling from the stone chimney. 

Clementine turns to look at Violet and scans her from head to toe: rebellious hair and piercings, a flannel shirt inside of a hoodie, torn jeans and beaten boots. Then Clementine looks back at the picturesque cottage. The _dichotomy_. “I’m starting to think that you’re only all fluff and sparkles on the inside. You live in heaven.” 

“Don’t you associate me with fluff and sparkles _ever_ again.” Violet looks visibly perturbed. “And yeah, I know. I’m an apostle of Jesus.”

They take their shoes off by the entryway. Clementine stands in awe. The interior is inundated with warm colours and decor that complimented the terracotta flooring and the fake plants that lined the window sills. Russet curtains, dainty terrariums, and floral wallpaper; Clementine feels like she stepped into another realm from the way the setting sun was filtering through the windows in pillars of light. 

Violet calls for her grandmother as she disappears into the noisy kitchen that emanated an appetizing smell of baked cheese. Clementine follows after her, admiring the rest of the decor on the way. The kitchen was small and adjacent to the common room, and beside the oven stood a small and pudgy old woman with plaited, grey hair and an aquiline nose, wearing an apron over a peach dirndl skirt that made Clementine want to hug and squish her. She has the same light, green eyes.

“Gran, this is the friend I told you I was gonna bring tonight,” Violet says sheepishly, rubbing her nape. “She’s Clementine. Or Clem, I guess.”

“Hello.” Clementine smiles politely, giving a small wave. 

At first look, Violet’s grandmother appeared intimidating, her droopy eyes roaming around Clementine’s face without a crack in her stoic expression. But then she breaks into a smile and nods approvingly, patting Violet on the bum. “Very good choice.”

Violet throws her head back and groans. Clementine tilts her head, confused, before Violet’s grandmother steps forward and envelops Clementine into a friendly hug. She pulls back with her hands on Clementine’s shoulders, beaming. “Please, Clementine! Make yourself at home. It has been a long time since Violet has invited anyone new. Would you like water? Tea? Coke? Lemonade?” Even as Clementine declines all the offers of refreshments, she sighs contentedly and pats Clementine on the knuckles. “I am so sorry. I am just very excited. Violet has said so many fantastic things about you!”

“Uh - gran, _no_ I haven’t.” 

“What did I say about you calling me that? It makes me sound so American.” 

“Fine, _nonnina_.” 

She tuts and lets go of Clementine’s hands in favour of grabbing a wooden spoon to wave Violet away. “That is better. As for you, Clementine, you may call me Nana.” 

Violet objects, “Okay, now _that’s_ just weird - ”

“Zip, zip! If you want to eat good food, then I must not be disturbed now. Dinner is not ready yet. Go show our special guest around the house, Violet. And Clementine, feel free to come back and talk to me. I have many baby photos to show!” 

Violet begrudgingly leaves the kitchen and beckons Clementine to follow. As soon as they step into the living room, Violet turns around and almost implores, “Do _not_ look at my baby photos.”

Clementine responds with a cheeky grin and a shrug. Violet petulantly frowns and heads up the wooden stairs that creaked beneath their weight at every accumulating step. She shows her the bathroom first before heading towards her bedroom, and the first thing Clementine notices about Violet’s room is that it’s remarkably bright. 

The walls are a vibrant shade of reddish-orange adorned with posters of niche rock bands. A timber desk cluttered with art supplies is angled at the corner with a plastic chair, and a bookshelf rests beside it with a collection of comic books and graphic novels. Violet was rushing around, grabbing her wrinkled clothes that were scattered across the floor and tossing them into her closet, but the main cynosure of the room that grabbed Clementine’s attention was the large stuffed bear sitting on her unmade bed. Clementine feels all of her insides melt into goo. This _seriously_ isn’t good for her heart. 

Violet seems to have noticed it too, because she cusses and quickly drowns the bear underneath her blankets, hiding it from sight. “You didn’t see that.”

“I totally did, and that is the _cutest_ thing ever,” Clementine says, her voice rumbling from trying to restrain her laughter as she covers her mouth with a hand. “Does Brody know too?” 

Violet looks minutes away from exploding in embarrassment. “I - yes. But if you tell _anyone_ else about this, I’m gonna replace your shampoo with shaving cream so you’ll get out of the shower all hairless like a shiny naked mole rat.” 

“Oh, I’d like to see you try. I don't use shampoo.”

“You're fuckin' with me.” 

"Okay, I use shampoo."

Clementine grins and settles her bags down once Violet gives her the okay. She plops down onto the carpeted floor and leans her back against the wall, watching as Violet continues to frantically tidy up her room. Clementine wonders if she should paint her walls too - to signify the solidity of her makeshift family. She remembers how reluctant she had been to decorate her room the first few days of having moved to town, content on keeping it lackluster and dull when she didn’t see a reason to try. The expectation of relocation loomed over her head, but Lee had made it clear to both her and AJ that he was there to stay.

As Violet struggles to shut the door of her closet that was jammed full, Clementine thinks twice of asking Violet about what happened on Friday. She doesn’t want to ruin the atmosphere and how things were going with them at the moment, even if denying the possibility of Violet actually liking Clementine was making her face burn like a hot oven. The thought of asking Violet about the twins seems like a plausible conversation starter, but it seems almost _too_ personal to openly talk about. 

Therefore, Ruby’s echoing words resurfaced from the southern hemisphere of Clementine’s brain, urging her to ask instead, “Hey, how do you feel about prom?”

Violet starts so violently that she lets go of the door, sending the force of jammed clothes into spilling out and back onto the floor in a heaping mess of disorganization. She whirls around, puzzled. “I - what?”

“Huh? Shit. I mean.” Clementine realizes how wrongly worded her question had been. _Fuck._ “I mean, like. How do you _feel_ about it? Do you hate it? Are you thinking of going? That’s, uh. That’s what I meant. Um.” 

“Oh. Right.” Violet clears her throat and busies herself with an another attempt of ramming all her clothes into the closet. “Well, I think prom’s, like, for preppy buttsniffers. It’s basically a bloodless educational experience where everyone gets to show off how rich they are, all the while encouraging social inclusion or exclusion based on whether or not you were able to snag a fuckin’ date. Like, it’s stupid. I’d rather do a nine-hundred question livejournal survey than to watch a bunch of Mr. Darcy’s trying to monopolize their dance cards on one single night.” 

She pauses and quickly darts her eyes from the closet to Clementine. “But, I mean. It’s cool, you know, to - uh, have fun with friends?” 

Clementine nods, unsure of what to do with Violet’s brutally honest opinion on prom. It’s not like Clementine was an enthusiast like Brody, nor did she have the time to even _think_ about attending. So why is she so concerned with Violet’s standing on the whole social event? As if she’s going to ask her - Clementine would rather eat a bunch of hot chili peppers than to face mortification. 

“Agreed,” is all she can say, but adds a thumbs-up so as to not let it seem too wishy-washy. Violet smiles weirdly.

After a while, Violet finally succeeds in closing the closet door with a loud click. She talks a bit about Nana to pass time - how her grandmother was more of the quiet type, preferring to knit, read, collect fine china, and embellish the cottage with succulents, and to garden. Rather than socialize with the rest of the folks in their halcyon neighborhood, she’d listen to Chopin’s variety of _Nocturnes_ on her old gramophone and solve large puzzles with Violet in the delicacy of their solitude. 

Clementine somewhat connects the dots between the lack of family photos and how Violet never mentions her parents, and though curiosity is a trademark trait of Clementine’s, she doesn’t ask about them.

When Nana calls them down for dinner, they sit at the round dinner table and share portions. Nana makes several attempts at conversations that comprises of embarrassing Violet, reprimanding Violet, and getting to know Clementine. The timballo was good too, with the freshly baked pasta and potatoes mixed with cheese and meat, and it’s a little strange to see Violet eat heartily at something that isn’t chicken nuggets. But nothing seems to make Nana more happier than seeing them enjoy the food. 

(She also does end up showing the baby photos to Clementine, with a few middle school photos of Violet and Brody, and it’s literally _the_ best day of her life.) 

Nana slices apples for them to eat afterwards. Clementine insists on helping with the dishes, but the grandmother-daughter duo kicks her out of the kitchen when Nana nearly incapacitates Clementine by aggressively swinging a wooden spoon at her way. That’s how Clementine finds herself nursing her full stomach up in Violet’s room, glancing out the window where the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon and the line of towering trees. The sky has darkened, leaving a vulnerable tapestry of stars out in the open.

Clementine hears the door open and she sits up from her lazy sprawl. With no greeting, Violet grabs a book from her shelf and tucks it underneath her arm. She goes to unlock the window, pushing it open to the fullest extent, before she climbs out of it. Clementine watches as Violet pulls herself up onto the slate roof with ease and waves an impatient hand at her. “Time to get your ass up here! The stars are out.” 

Dubiously, Clementine does as she’s told and clambers out the window. After a few minutes of stumbling and accidental cursing, Clementine finally makes it onto the roof without falling to her mild but potentially damaging temporary death. 

A gentle breeze brushes past her and Clementine looks up. The moon floats up there like a jellyfish, splitting open and spilling borrowed light, and the stars are out in the earnest open looking so clear that the sky reminded Clementine of one of those cracked-open geodes, everything sharp and glittering crystal inside. Clementine wants to reach up for one, pocket it to bring home and keep it in a jar like a firefly. 

“Pretty rad, huh?”

Clementine glances beside her. The both of them have their heads tilted skywards, and Violet is smiling. Clementine can’t help but smile too. “Yeah. I forget to look up at the sky, sometimes, so it’s nice to just pause and remember that there’s a whole other world up there. Plus, you’re right - it really is even more beautiful here. Do you do this often?”

Violet shrugs. She lies down on her back and Clementine follows suit. “Not like there’s anythin’ else to do in town, is there? And I guess the stars are kinda like my friends too, in a way. The world keeps on spinning and I’m growing older by the year, but the bright folks up there keep me grounded - which is pretty funny considering how much people feel small and insignificant because of ‘em. But it’s humbling, and I like that.” She purses her lips, narrowing her eyes. “God, that sounds so fuckin’ stupid now that I’ve said that out loud. I wish you would shut me up, sometimes.”

“Why would I do that?” Clementine asks, genuinely puzzled. “I like the way you think. Don’t ever shut up, you dummy.” 

Violet blinks at her, momentarily stunned, before she quickly looks down. “You’re totally gonna regret saying that, but okay.” 

Clementine quietly laughs. She listens on as Violet launches onto a spiel about how they’re going to look for constellations as per instruction on the guide book she has in her arms. Clementine questions her level of skill, because to her, they all looked like milky dots in the sky without any distinguishable shape.

After fumbling with the pages, squinting at the constellations and trying to match its shape in the sky, and bickering with Violet on whether or not the constellation they were seeing was correct, Clementine brings her hand up and leaves a nonexistent space between her forefinger and thumb. “Violet, I am _this_ close to pushing you off the roof.”

“Do it, ‘cause you’re gonna have to face the wrath of my gran. I’d be falling into her bed of tulips and her garden is way more important than the wellbeing of her own granddaughter,” Violet snarks, glancing up at the sky for a miniscule moment. She does a double take, quickly scans the book, and pinches Clementine’s arm in terrible excitement. “Holy fuckles, we got one.”

“Fuckles?” Clementine repeats in horror. Violet nudges her to follow her finger as she connects the dots and traces out the constellation. Slowly, once the shape settles in, Clementine hurriedly checks the book and almost cries, “That’s Cassiopeia! We’re not so totally useless after all.” 

“That’s fuckin’ neat,” Violet says in awe. “It’s usually hard to find actual ones so most of the time, I make shit up.”

Clementine grins. They lie there in comfortable silence, dissuading the earlier day’s apprehension. No sweaty hands or rapid heartbeat but merely the presence of peace and comfort. Clementine doesn’t realize how warm the cold can be with Violet beside her. 

Their conversation continues onwards as lighthearted - with Clementine reciting a poem about baseball by Walt Whitman, Violet teasing her about getting a baseball tattoo in the future, about mundane things like the silverfish Violet found scurrying in the bathroom, or how Brody sent her twenty messages in a row under two minutes ranting about the prom committee's disorganization.

But with the skyline flickering faint lights that brought the town aglow with life in the distance, the vastness of the stars and the trees encourages Clementine to let go of the barbed wire constricting her thoughts. 

“Lee likes the stars too,” she says thoughtfully. “When he tucks AJ to bed and lets me stay up later than usual, we sit out on the porch and watch the sky too. I don’t know shit, but he always points out The Little Dipper - or Ursa Minor, ‘cause that’s what he likes to call me sometimes.” 

“Little Bear?” Clementine doesn’t have to see to hear the smile in Violet’s quiet voice.

“Yeah. I’m his Little Bear. It’s so goofy.” She smiles. “But, you know, I’ve always wondered if my real dad liked the stars too. I don’t remember much about him, or how he looked like for that matter. He’s just - a blob in my memory. That’s it. Just a blob.”

"Do you miss him? Miss your real parents, I mean, even though you can’t remember them?”

Clementine thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t know them well enough to truly miss them. But I guess I do anyways. I’ve always wanted to meet the people who loved me but didn’t get the chance to let me know that they did.”

Violet is silent, tugging down at her sleeves as she keeps her eyes fixed on the stars. When she does speak up again, it’s not what Clementine was expecting. “Mine was a piece of work. He thought stargazing was unmanly and that the only time that we _should_ be looking up at the stars is to ask God for forgiveness. But I mean, he was also a misogynistic and alcoholic dickhead, so his opinions didn’t really have much substance for me.” 

That reminds Clementine of an old past guardian - a man who could only cope by drinking when his uncle died. She wonders how he’s doing now. But then something else clicks suddenly and she turns to Violet. “Your dad - is that why you don’t drink alcohol? Because of him?”

Violet pulls her lips into a tight smile. “Addiction runs in the family, don’t you think? Tastes fuckin’ awful too.”

“What about your mum?”

A pause. Violet bites at her lip. “I was eleven when she - you know, gran didn’t have to take care of me. She could have shipped me off to boarding school or dropped me off at a social worker the morning we found out that my mom left for good. I still don’t know why she stuck around when it was so easy to just leave me, but she didn’t. She stayed, and I - yeah. She just kept taking care of me without asking anything in return. Gran’s the first one to do that.”

“She sounds strong - like a superhero, but old.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ lameass, but yeah. Gran’s the only family that matters, now. My parents were never parents, anyways. They were more like strangers with an obligation.” 

“Maybe we could have been friends at the orphanage,” Clementine says lightheartedly. 

Violet laughs, and the heavy atmosphere immediately disperses at the sound of her laughter. “That’d be crazy. Maybe in another universe.”

“What if that universe is a zombie apocalypse?”

“Let's hope I don't die first before I could find you.”

“Don’t sweat. Zombies eat brains, so you’ll be totally safe.”

"Oh, fuck off," Violet says without heat, shooting her an unamused look. Clementine smiles and shrugs, and watches as Violet redirects her gaze back to the sky, the unruly moonlight scrawled over her face that was reminiscent of cutting through water like moving stained glass. 

Up close, Clementine can see Violet’s freckles in full clarity and traces them with her eyes - a cluster of stars and dappling of sunspots in reflection of the sky. But then she sees a familiar shape when she strings together a trail of freckles from the center of her face, and without thinking, Clementine lifts a finger and lightly presses it against Violet’s cheek. 

“Oh,” Clementine whispers and moves her finger gently, connecting the dots from freckle to freckle, tracing out the shape of the constellation. “I found Cassiopeia here too.”

Clementine doesn’t realize what she’s just done until Violet stares at her, wide-eyed and tense, and Clementine flinches away as though she’s been burned, her face growing hot. “I’m - oh my God, I’m sorry. Uhhh, I - that was - I was supposed to be doing that in my head. I mean, I do a lot of things in my head, but I was _not_ supposed to be physically doing that. Jesus Christ, I’m just - sorry. That must have been weird, um. Sorry.”

“Dude, chill. It’s - it’s fine.” Violet lightly elbows Clementine, though she doesn’t say anything else, still donning a look of bewilderment. Clementine wants to jump off the roof right now and right there. Who let her have a mouth? Why was she _born_ with a mouth? Seriously.

As she’s mentally griping over her social ineptitude, Clementine sucks in a breath when something warm brushes against her hand. She blinks down at the sight of Violet ever so gently resting her hand on top of Clementine’s, hovering in an unspoken hesitance and invitation for reciprocation. Clementine looks up at Violet, studying the way in which a hot blush has coloured her apprehensive face. It’s ironic how Clementine feels the most alive when her heart skips a beat.

Her hand is shaking, but Clementine gathers forth all the courage from the stars and gently intertwines their fingers together. Clementine stares ahead, unable to bring herself to look at Violet, but she empties her mind of worry, of over analyzation, of questioning what it is that simmers between them, and lets herself bask in pretending - in the warmth of Violet's hand. But then her lips quirk into a small smile at the sudden remembrance to a forgotten dream: 

Violet’s hand really can be soft and calloused at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this might go past 5 chapts at this point JDHDJS


	5. i'm the biggest hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone:  
> clem: COOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things have been pretty rough lately, so i'm sorry if this chapter isn't as on par with the previous ones ; v ; 
> 
> (i'm running out of punchlines JSDHFHSH)

Clementine holds her hand up in the air. The sun streams through her windows, pooling into a sea of scattered light over her room. If she imagines hard enough, she can still feel the lingering warmth of Violet’s hand spreading across the surface of her palm, storing shared secrets and tender smiles in between the creases and lines. Soft and calloused, with fingers delicate but in no way fragile, Violet’s hands were a little bit bigger than Clementine’s and the harbinger of magic. 

Clementine studies her own hand. Not exactly slender-fingered, but nimble like a pianist; rough and cracked from washing dishes in scalding hot water without gloves and playing ball in the hot sun. She’s broken a few nails from the collision of the hard material, too. It’s not exactly elegant. But she _did_ trace a constellation out of Violet’s freckles, and Clementine was going to cherish the privilege her finger had for the rest of her life.

Clementine sighs. She brings her hand down and opts to stare up at the ceiling instead, construing nonexistent constellations as a vivid memory of last night. Clementine can remember the way warmth gathered in her chest, the way the stars shone above them like an audience to their fumbling attempts at remaining calm, the way they explored their ponderous histories in a moment of vulnerability - the kind of feeling that couldn’t be emulated with anyone else, the kind of feeling that was solely brought out when she was only with Violet.

So. Was it still totally platonic? Probably not, at this point. Was it really gay? Hell fucking _yeah_ it was, and Clementine doesn’t know what to _do_. 

Frustrated, Clementine turns around, buries her face into her pillow, and screeches. 

The muffled sound of her screech immediately catches the attention of the two other persons in the household, and as soon as she’s finished, Clementine hears vehement footsteps pattering up the stairs and stomping down the hallway. She looks up when there’s a knock on the door. When it opens, Lee and AJ pop their heads in with concern and confusion scrawled over their faces.

“Everything okay, sweet pea?” Lee asks. “You’ve been up here for a while now and you’ve got school in an hour.” 

“You sounded like a dying beluga,” AJ pipes up. Lee frowns down at him. 

“Don’t you wish you can just be, like - a fish?” Clementine mumbles. “Or even a rock. A rock wouldn’t have feelings. A rock would just sit there and lie dormant and won’t have to worry about capitalism and political comeuppances and heartaches. It sounds nice to be a rock.”

Clementine flops back onto her pillow in emotional agony. How was she going to act around Violet _now_? Does she continue to act casual as though nothing monumental happened, or would it appear as though she was disinterested and didn’t care enough? Does she brush it under the rug and pretend it didn’t happen like she did with Friday? Does she profess her love, sweep Violet off her feet, and run off into the sunset like a young power couple eloping into the countryside in some hidden beauty of Europe, where they’ll plant twenty-thousand trees to save the earth from deforestation and from withering into a wasteland?

Clementine stares off into space. Lee comes over and sits down at her bedside, and AJ sits on top of his lap. “Is it that history teacher of yours, again? I’ve got no qualms for marching right in there to file a serious complaint, Clementine. As a history professor myself, his teaching degree is a complete sham! Plus, have you seen those _jowls_?” 

“Good guess, but no,” Clementine mumbles blankly. “It’s feelings. For a girl. I’m feeling things.” 

“Girl? Is it the friend from last night?” Lee says, leaning forward. “She looks like a very nice girl. And very purple too. What’s the problem?”

“That’s just it. _That’s_ the problem!”

“But isn’t that supposed to make you happy?” AJ asks, puzzled. “I don’t understand old people. If you’ve got feelings, why not just say it?”

Clementine shoots him an unsatisfactory look. “As if it’s just that’s easy, you goofball. It’s my last year and who knows what she’s gonna do after high school ends? It’s not gonna last and I’m probably just setting myself up for heartbreak in the long haul!” She pauses. “And - I mean. I’m not even sure if I like _like_ her, you know? Also because I’m completely useless around her. What am I supposed to do? Talk to her about it? Yeah right, and _I’m_ Captain Marvel who got cockblocked by the Russo Brothers. I’m a lost cause, you guys.” 

Lee clears his throat, sounding terribly awkward. “Well. That sounds like a rather, uh. Unfortunate dilemma, sweetie. Hm.”

“I still don’t get it,” AJ complains. 

Clementine grumbles, “That’s ‘cause you’re a kid.”

“I’m a _big_ kid.”

“Alright, alright. I think you should take into consideration that no matter what happens in the future, if you don’t do something now - you’ll probably regret it afterwards,” Lee supplies, tapping his chin in thought. “You kids always say that you only live once, so why not follow your own advice? If all you have is _now_ , why not make the best of it?”

Clementine purses her lips and scrunches up her nose. Damn Lee and his philosophy. 

“And think of it like that one quote from Babe Ruth: ‘Never allow the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game!’ See? Baseball was ahead of its time for teaching you about life. Pretty neat, huh?”

“I can’t believe you just used baseball to entice me,” Clementine groans. “And it’s working.”

With a triumphant laugh, Lee high-fives AJ. Clementine finally sits up from bed and shoots them a disgruntled look even as they envelop her into a hug. That alone gives her strength to get her shit together, and though Lee was clumsy in regards to dealing with her teenage angst and AJ was still oblivious to the woes of puberty, Clementine is glad for their advice no matter how excruciatingly awkward it may be sometimes.

-

The earth is a punk ass bitch and she’s just one of the many dumbasses living on it.

Clementine was notorious for being deadset in denial and oblivious to all signs, but when she makes her way to school and witnesses Violet frolicking around in a frantic fit underneath a willow tree near the courtyard, swiping at her hair and shoulders to rid herself of those satan-spawned inchworms that made her look like a shaman in the middle of a demon exorcism ritual, Clementine feels the world beneath her feet tilt and the sky swallow her whole. 

Of all things - it wasn’t even the stargazing that set things in motion despite it prompting an overnight crisis. It wasn’t the clumsy hand-holding, the secretive and tender smiles, the hot blush colouring their cheeks when they said goodbye after Lee came to pick Clementine up - no. _No._ It was Violet looking like an idiot that ignited the cogs in her brain to churn, rumble, and finally click into place.

Clementine stares at Violet panicking about the inchworms with a blank face. Then she glances down at the pin on her letterman jacket. Then she looks back at Violet. She looks back down. Clementine stands unprepared in the face of a hurricane when she comes to the hefty realization that’s been hanging over her like a neon sign with obvious, flashy arrows directed at her head. 

She likes Violet. 

She really _really_ does.

The kind of like that makes Clementine want to bury herself six-feet deep but also write Petrarchan love sonnets; the kind of like that makes her feel like spring with flowers blooming in her chest; the kind of like that induces an intense desire in Clementine for someone to defeneresate her, but also makes her want to take a three-hour bus ride to the space centre so she can buy one of those expensive as fuck planetarium projectors for Violet. 

After repeated stages of encountering self-contradictions, denial, and a good slab of hesitancy that were truly not her best moments in life, Clementine can now confidently and certainly claim for the nth time that she’s been lost to the love gallows since the very beginning.

“Oh my God,” she whispers to herself. “Holy shit.”

The first thing that Clementine does is run. Clementine darts into the school without thinking; the whorl of emotions are building up inside her, gathering with such force that Clementine can barely manage to keep at bay. She recalls her memories of Violet as though she was browsing through a winding filmstrip - from the first day Clementine met her in detention, to their McDonald adventures and random conversations and post-game celebrations, to the ambiguity of their relationship as they held hands beneath the stars. Pair that up with Lee’s resounding advice echoing in the back of her head, putting the baseball analogy as a cherry on top - Clementine thinks this is it. _This is it._

She hunts Louis down, and when she finds him at his locker side-stepping to a bubblegum pop song he was humming out loud, she yells, “Louis!”

He whirls around, startled. “Jesus Christmas cake, Clem. What’d I say about scaring me all the time? One day, I’m gonna sue your ass for tachycardic inducement!”

Clementine ignores his theatrics. She marches up to him and grabs him by the shoulders. She stares into his eyes with such conviction that he begins to shrink underneath her unnerving gaze. A pin drop could be heard in the quietness amidst the hall. 

But the world around her seems to brighten as she speaks the truth into existence, into acceptance, with the clumsy words tumbling out of her mouth in a wonderstruck voice: “I Violet like! Shit, I mean - I like Violet. I. Like. _Violet_.” 

Louis stares at her. Clementine stares back. Louis screams. Clementine screams back. 

“I was _right_!” Louis belts while capering around the hall with his arms thrown up in the air. Then he comes back to grab Clementine into a tight embrace. They jump and twirl around in circles like giddy children before he lets go of Clementine and starts shouting at the top of his lungs, “Y’all heard it folks! Clem likes _likes_ her! She fucking finally said it out loud people, woohoo! _Finally_ , you useless bisexual. Oh my God, I was about to die. Praise the fucking lord! Ave _Mariaaa_ \- ”

“What the - Louis, _stop_ ,” Clementine sharply hushes him when he starts to sing, feeling her face burn from the tip of her ears down to her neck. Other students idling in the hall were staring at them with a look of confusion. “Don’t announce it to the whole world, asshole!”

Louis laughs heartily and continues to dance around without a degree of consideration to the cranky kids and teachers in the morning, looking more ecstatic at the news than Clementine herself. He even takes her by the shoulders and smooches her dead center on the forehead. Clementine is so stunned that she can’t even bring herself to kick him in the ass. 

But the thing she least expects for Louis to do in the middle of his euphoric indulgence and gleeful prance was to single Aasim out in a crowd of students walking down the hall, coincidentally enough. With his other arm akimbo, Louis points directly at Aasim and blurts out, “Hey you, Aasim Khan! Go to prom with me!” 

Clementine stares up at him, her mouth agape. Everyone in the hall gawks. Aasim jerks to a halt like a deer caught in the headlights, looking milliseconds away from melting into the ground at suddenly garnering the spotlight. 

“I - uh, I - “ Aasim flounders. “Umm. Okay?” 

“Sweet!” Louis punches the air with a triumphant fist. But as Aasim rushes past them and sprints for the stairs, Louis abruptly stops in the middle of his self-congratulatory cheering. His grin immediately falls and his eyes bulges. _Louis.exe has stopped functioning_ , Clementine thinks amusedly to herself. “Wait, what?” 

She needs to keep a diary at this point. “You just - Louis, you just asked him to prom. And he said _yes_.”

“Oh my God. He said yes,” Louis repeats in disbelief, brows furrowed in deep concentration in order to process what had just happened. He whips his head towards the direction of the staircase and begins to run after his newly confirmed prom date. “Wait - Aasim! Wait for me, dude! We gotta like, plan out our outfits now! Colour coordination! Tie patterns! _Corsages_!” 

Clementine watches as he hurries off. She didn’t think her own feelings could inspire Louis so much to the extent of mindlessly and impulsively asking his crush of two years to prom after declining the opportunity to do so multiple of times, too invested in the likely possibility that Aasim hated his guts. Perhaps there _is_ some good that came out of this whole, happy ordeal. But then the classroom door across from her is thrown open and Mr. St. John steps out with a pinched frown that made him look constipated.

“Clementine, was that you making all that noise?” He demands. Before Clementine can argue, he’s taking out a yellow memo pad and scribbling over it. He rips the sheet off and hands it to her. “It’s eight in the darn morning. Show more of that energy in the classroom instead of pestering the rest of us!” 

Mr. St. John storms back in and slams the door. Clementine blinks at the space he once occupied and looks down at the slip. Nevermind. _Fuck_ Louis.

-

When Clementine says it’s funny how the universe works, it is fucking hilarious. Clementine, however, did not find comedy in the universe’s joke because she only experiences negative 0 aH of laughter.

Alright. So, it goes like this.

At lunch, Ruby wouldn’t stop sharing dappy looks with Brody who was furiously tapping away at her phone. Even as Clementine points it out, Ruby prevents Brody from talking by shoving a fry into her mouth, and says, “You’ve got nothing to worry ‘bout, hun. Just eat your sandwich - is that a beet in there? - look at the trees and enjoy the sunlight!”

Clementine furrows her brows, motioning at the fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria and the large banners promoting prom that were plastered all over the white walls. “What trees? What sunlight? Look, it’s been a hot past few weeks, and the two of you haven’t stopped acting like suspicious cats. So, if you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m going to design a machine that’ll throw your bodies down an eternal flight of carpeted stairs so you die by carpet burn _and_ broken limbs.” 

“Aw Clem,” Brody coos and clasps her hands together. “You’re so innovative!”

Clementine rolls her eyes and takes an aggressive bite out of her sandwich. While chewing, she’s got her mouth open with another witty threat ready to roll off the tip of her tongue, until Brody perks up and starts vigorously waving her arm at somebody behind Clementine. “Oh, hey! Vi, over here!” 

Clementine chokes on her sandwich so hard that Ruby was about to perform the heimlich maneuver on her, but she manages to swallow the contents and turn around. Violet loiters by the doors with her arms crossed, seemingly reluctant and annoyed at Brody’s eager invitation as though she was being blackmailed into coming. In all of Clementine’s high school life in Ericson’s, she has _never_ seen Violet step a single foot into the cafeteria. 

Violet takes a step forward but spins around, ready to run for her life, but then Louis comes barreling into her from the side and throws an arm around Violet’s shoulder, bringing her forward instead. With a big, impish grin, he drags Violet towards their table, looking unbothered by the death glare Violet was sending his way. 

“It’s fantastic to have you finally join us for lunch, Vi. It’s been ages since you sat with us!” Brody exclaims, scooting to the side and obviously setting up a seat for Violet right beside Clementine. “C’mon, grouchy face! Sit, sit, sit.”

“Brody, I’m gonna dress you as a lettuce and feed you to the snails. Just you _wait_ ,” Violet grumbles, hesitating for a moment before she takes a tentative seat down beside Clementine. Her grumpy demeanor immediately softens when she gives Clementine a sheepish smile. “Hey.”

Clementine thought she would gain a bit more confidence once she’s declared her feelings out loud, settling in as a concrete truth, but instead - she’s become more of a bumbling, inept fool, and wants nothing more than to turn into a pint-sized bug and be crushed to death. God, she has _no_ idea how to act around her. “Violet, hi! I - hey, my stargazing buddy. What’s, uh. What’s up? Ha, the ceiling, am I right? But you know, what’s been going on? I mean, I only just saw you last night so maybe not a lot but, like. You know. How’s - how’s your day been?”

In the corner of her eye, Clementine sees Louis facepalm. Violet is stunned speechless, but her cheeks colour at the mention of last night. Clementine is about to revise her entire spiel when Louis jumps in to save the day, “Alrighty. Now that you’ve joined us, Vi, it looks like you’re officially part of the crew!”

“Crew?” Violet raises a brow. “And what is the name of this crew you speak of?”

Louis points at her. “The Nerd Herd.”

“That’s bullshit,” Brody gasps. “It’s The Spicy Liberals.”

“Uh, no it ain’t.” Ruby scoffs. “We’re calling ourselves The Round Pegs in Square Holes.”

Louis grimaces and sticks his tongue out. “No offence, but those are awful fucking names. Listen up, pals - let me grace you with my alternatives: The Bluffmasters, The Crap Collectors, or The Furry Squad. _Wait_. How about The Pussy Destroyers?”

Clementine rolls her eyes to the ceiling and leans back in her chair. Violet shakes her head and sits back as well, and the both of them watch the three of them engage in a verbal battle over which crew name was the best. Clementine didn’t even know they had a crew name; she just thought they were all enumerated as dumbasses, but clearly she’s been left behind in their decorative endeavors. 

She leans close to Violet, pressing their shoulders together, and says, “The two of us could just be called plants. Plant One, Plant Two. Badabing, badaboom. I totally did not mean for that to rhyme.”

“That’s fuckin’ awful. I’d rather help that one guy wipe his ass in the airplane than be called a _plant_.” 

Clementine laughs, and it brings a smile on Violet’s face. “Fair enough. You get in trouble today?”

“If you count getting lectured for sitting ‘uncouthly’, as Mr. Carver said. I told him to shove his old-fashioned mores up his uptight ass, and now I have to spend an hour after school scrubbing desks. He told me to be more open-minded, and I’m like - my mind _is_ open. My mind’s so open that it’s practically fucking seven-eleven. What a turd.”

“That’s valid. I just got detention on behalf of Louis because he was being stupidly loud.” Clementine shoots Louis a glare. He seems to have noticed because he abruptly stops in the middle of his tirade, turns around, and puffs up his chest.

“Hey, I heard that. What can I say, Clem? I had to prepare some details with my _prom_ date.”

The fight over their crew name was immediately forgotten like a penny tossed at sea. Brody slaps a hand against the table, half-standing. “What? No way! Who? Who is it?”

Louis grins and leans forward. “Aasim.”

Ruby’s eyes widen before she puts her hands together and thanks God. Brody almost screams and sits back down. Violet raises her brows and glances at Clementine in question, to which Clementine affirms with a complacent nod. Louis throws his head back and laughs - a throaty, sincere laugh that resembled the sound a dog makes before it throws up. 

“I can’t believe Lou, of all people, got a prom date before _me_ ,” Brody complains, though she exchanges a fist bump with him as a show of genuine companionship. “Who do _I_ ask now?”

Clementine frowns. “Didn’t you say you wanted to ask your friend? The twin?” 

Ruby fails in time to shush her. Brody’s eyes bulge and she darts her eyes to Violet, who suddenly stiffens. The atmosphere around them turns tense and Clementine has no idea what just happened. She didn’t know the topic of the twins was a sensitive one. At least she shares a solidarity of confusion with Louis, who also seems to be lost in the change of mood. 

“Um, Vi. Before you chop me up with a meat cleaver and cook me like a medium rare steak,” Brody starts, wringing her hands. “Can I just say that - yeah! I totally thought about asking Sophie ‘cause, you know, it’s no secret that I like her. But I haven’t and I _wouldn’t_ because I value our friendship and I’d never let someone else get in the way, and if you don’t want me to ask Sophie, then that is completely, utterly, immensely, superbly, _absolutely_ A-okay!“

Clementine slides her eyes between the both of them, wondering what was the insider conflict. Violet stares down at the table with such intense concentration, it seems as though she was trying to will an applicable answer into existence. But then her shoulders deflate and she reaches forward to steal a fry from Ruby’s tray of food, dodging Ruby’s attempt to karate chop her arm. “It’s okay, Brody. Seriously. You don’t need to ask for my permission. That’s, like. Pretty messed up in itself, anyways.” 

“But - “

“I’m serious. _Ask_ her. She’s totally gonna say yes, dude.” Violet gently nudges Brody with an arm. “You don’t have to tread on ice whenever this comes up. It’s been a little over a year now. I’m fine. It’s not even a big deal.”

Brody remains apprehensive, but seems to relax a bit from Violet’s encouraging tone. “She’s probably going to bring Minnie with her, though.”

“So? You’re talking as if I’m actually gonna go to prom.”

“What do you mean? Of _course_ you are!”

Louis interrupts them. “Okay, so like. Are we talking about the cartoon animal with the male counterpart now, or are we talking about a legit person? Vi, you’re not actually a furry, are you?”

Clementine tears off a bite-sized piece from her sandwich and helpfully supplies it to Violet, to which she uses to hurl at Louis’ face in retaliation, making him sputter and frantically dust the crumbs off. He cries, “Violet? You should be called _Violent_ instead!”

Violet ignores him, opting to shake her head and stand up from her seat. Her lips are pulled into a taut line. She looks a little disheartened. “I forgot I left something in the art studio. I’ll see you guys around.”

Violet offers a half-hearted wave before she makes her way out of the cafeteria, lugging the heavy atmosphere after her. There’s a twinge of concern and guilt in Clementine’s chest, and she can feel her hands grow sweaty. She done _goofed._ Clementine doesn’t even know what she did, but she fucked up, and now she feels like a horse without legs sinking a thousand feet below in the ocean. 

When she turns her attention back to the others, Brody looks just as troubled. Louis nods at the door, his brows raised, and Clementine doesn’t need a signal for her to take initiative. 

Clementine quickly puts away her lunch in her backpack. She tells them that she’s going to go ahead and leaves the cafeteria in a brisk manner, hoping that Violet was still discernible in the long corridor. Faintly enough, Clementine sees her turning the corner in the direction of the stairs. She breaks into a run, feeling immensely grateful for her stamina, while stopping at intervals in order to avoid trouble with the hall monitors and nosy teachers sticking their heads out.

When she arrives at the stairs and finds Violet reaching the third floor, Clementine calls after her, “Hey! I may play baseball, but I _really_ hate stairs.” 

Violet stops, staring as Clementine takes her time up the steps. Probably a bad idea to run right after she finished eating, but she’s never been one to use her head during times of hyper fixating on a particular task. Once Clementine catches up to her, a circuit in her brain fries when she realizes she’s standing a bit too close to Violet, receiving a flattering view of Violet’s wide, vigilant eyes. The only thought trundling through Clementine’s head at that moment was: _hnnghgng??// >@#R! my God she’s so pretty._

“What?”

Clementine freezes. Oh no. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Violet’s face is completely beet red. _Oh my God_ , Clementine thinks dreadfully, _I totally did._

“Shit. Please ignore that. I mean, ignore that _I_ said that out loud, but take the compliment ‘cause, like. It’s true. But pretend I didn’t say that. Pretend Jesus said that. Or not. Maybe you can pretend that my doppelganger said that instead?” Clementine starts to sweat. Choking on sugar seems like the sweetest way to die right now. “I mean, hi. Again.” 

If sound effects exist in real life, steam would have come out of Violet’s ears at this point. “Um. Hey again to you too, um. I - thank you, I guess? I mean, I think you’re pretty too. Like, way prettier, and - yeah.”

Clementine goes bug-eyed. Violet called her pretty - no. Prettier.

_Prettier._

That’s a blatant lie, but Clementine’s going to combust. This is it. She’s going to malfunction and internally implode. She’s going to start writing sappy shit like how Violet’s hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze or how her complexion looked as though it was exfoliated by the tears of Jesus. This is the best and worst day of her life. “Well - well, I - well - thank you. I - yes. Thank you. Oh my God.”

“Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great.”

“Let’s move on, now. Moving on!”

“Right, moving on.” Violet smiles, uncrossing her arms. She jerks a thumb down the hall. “I lied about the whole art studio thing. I was gonna go outside. You wanna come with?”

Clementine eagerly smiles. “Yeah. Sure.”

Violet takes her down to the courtyard where a crowd of students were hanging about in the middle of lunch. Clementine follows after her as they walk across the grassfield and head towards one of the many tall trees; Clementine recognizes the distinct weeping willow as the same tree from earlier in the morning, and it is because of her lack of self-awareness that she asks, “Isn’t this where a bunch of inchworms fell on you?”

Violet turns around, startled. “How’d you know?”

“Uh. It wasn’t like I was watching you or anything, ha. I mean, I was walking by and just saw you dancing around. No biggie.”

Violet narrows her eyes but takes the answer. She plops onto the grass and lies down, using her arm as a pillow behind her head. Clementine follows suit, though she merely sits down and crosses her legs. The large weeping willow towers over them with the drapery of thick foliage providing dappled shade and protecting them from the warm sunlight. It’s as though Clementine crossed a threshold once she’s stepped underneath a world of raining leaves. 

A gentle breeze brushes past them. Clementine listens to the cacophony of laughter and muddled voices from the distance. She glances down at Violet to see her staring up at the sky through the flimsy canopy of leaves. 

"You know how there's past tense and present tense?" Violet muses, apropos of nothing. "Well. _I'm_ always in perpetual tense."

“That’s horrible."

Violet gives a smug smile. But then she takes on a more thoughtful look, her voice dropping. "You know. Since middle school, I remember I used to get into fights all the time with the tiny assholes who kept pickin' on Brody. And she always fought with the girls who talked shit about me. Then things kinda changed. I wouldn’t have met the twins if it weren’t for Brody. Even after they changed schools, Brody was willing to stop talking to Sophie because of the breakup. I don’t know why she’d do that just for me.” 

“Well. Your her friend, and from what I’ve fondly heard about you, she loves you a helluva lot.” Clementine remembers to keep her mouth shut about Hot Topic. 

“I guess so. Sometimes it’s a little overwhelming. I don’t want our friendship to appear one-sided. I want Brody to go and have fun with the literal love of her life - she said it, not me - and I wish I didn’t ruin things for her when she’s done so much for me.” Violet darts a hesitant glance at Clementine's way before she continues, "Minnie - well, Minerva. She's my ex. We were all close friends before she and Sophie moved."

Clementine blinks. "Oh. _Oh._ Ooooh. Uh - that’s cool?”

“I mean. I’m over it. Seriously,” Violet quickly tacks on. “It’s been a while. We were in, like, tenth grade when we started dating. I was young and dumb as shit. I mean, I’m still dumb, but less dumb than fifteen year old me, but fifteen year old me was also lonely and insecure. And, well. You know how it goes.”

“Um. Not really. When I was fifteen, I was too busy taking orders at a sketchy fast food chain for money.” Clementine says genuinely. “Do you still like Minnie?”

Violet plucks a blade of grass and drops it over Clementine’s knee. Clementine snatches a handful of grass and sprinkles it over Violet’s jacket as revenge. Violet wrinkles her nose. She takes the blade of grass and holds it up against the sunlight sneaking in through the gaps. “No.” 

Clementine watches as Violet flicks the grass away. “What happened?”

“Uh. It’s stupid, but to condense my failed relationship within five minutes - I was tying her down, essentially. I was always rough around the edges; a little too much or too little for others. Never whole enough. Still am, I guess. And Minnie was a free spirit. I - she broke it off ‘cause she didn’t think we’d work after she moved. Didn’t wanna be friends either.”

Clementine purses her lips. “That’s kinda harsh.”

“Maybe.” Violet gives a halfhearted shrug. “Don’t get me wrong. Minnie’s a real good person. Always looked out for me and all that. I remember her always singing to me to make me feel better; she's got the loveliest voice. I think she just - she felt bad for me, and didn’t want to hurt me ‘cause she knew I was in a tough spot. And sure, it was shitty of her to go along with it, but in retrospect, it was shitty of _me_ too.” 

Clementine uncrosses her legs and stretches them out. She pokes Violet in the shoulder and gestures her over. Met with a dubious stare, Violet hesitates for a moment before she gingerly moves closer and rests her head on top of Clementine’s lap. Clementine plucks another blade of grass and drops it in Violet’s hair. “How?”

“I - um.” Violet heaves out a deep breath. “I used her to take the loneliness away? I didn’t want to be alone. That was my biggest fear at that time. I wanted to, like, kiss somebody and feel special. I wanted to believe that I was, y’know - lovable? And I guess she saw that. It hurt her too, I think.”

The bell rings, but neither of them move. Clementine sits there in silence, letting Violet’s words sink in. To be able to reach such a deep, vulnerable part of Violet’s heart is terrifying yet humbling - that Clementine is trusted enough to be told something so personal. But as she watches Violet fumble for the grass in her hair, Clementine finds the inclination to do the same. 

“I’m probably gonna sound, like, fake deep but,” Clementine begins as she lifts up a hand, pulls her finger back, and lets go, “we could totally be bent out of shape but we’re always gonna find a way to go back to our original form no matter how long it takes - kinda like those spring steely things. So you know what? There _will_ be someone out there who’ll accept all parts of you no matter how rough and misshapen you think you are. Maybe Minnie wasn’t that person, but merely the person who helped you grow and realize that. If Sophie’s gonna bring her, there’s your chance to talk to her, apologize, and let bygones be bygones. It’s a chance to make amends.” 

Violet tilts her head back and stares up at Clementine, a quiet look in her green eyes. The shadows from the leaves flutter across her face in passing shapes like the malleable clouds in the sky, her freckles the stars floating amidst them in spontaneity. “Are you sure you’re a jock?”

“What does that have to do with the heartfelt speech I just poured my heart into?”

“Jocks don’t have brains. From what I know, jocks are physically incapable of thinking so deeply about things.” 

Clementine huffs and flicks her on the forehead. “Guess I’m a deviant, then.”

Violet smiles, murmuring, “You sure are.” 

Clementine uses Violet’s hair from both sides and starts to feather it over Violet’s face, laughing when Violet smacks her hands away.“Think you’re ready to slap another slab of reassurance onto Brody? She looked just as troubled as you were. And hey. Everyone’s got their own way of showing their love. I’m sure she knows you love her even if you don’t show it as loudly as she does.”

Violet smiles with a bit more confidence. There’s something in her eyes that Clementine can’t quite decipher - a riddle, a mystery, an enigma that’s clouded in light and warmth. Violet sits up and dusts the grass off her shoulders and hair, before she stands up and offers a hand to Clementine. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“When am I not?” Clementine jokes, taking Violet’s hand as she helps pull her up. They’re leaving the willow tree, stepping back into the open field. “Instead of baseball, I should totally become a personal life advisor.” 

“Not to burst your bubble here, but you _did_ sound like some knock-off wannabe philosopher.” 

“Shut up. I deserve my fake-deep phrase.”

Violet laughs, the sun casting her features golden. For a moment, she seems to burn. “Thanks, Clem.”

And Clementine thinks that making a fool of herself was - and will always be - worth it, if she gets to hear her laugh every single time.

-

During practice the next day, Clementine finds that Brody seems to be more chirpy and bubbly than usual, a bright shimmer in her eyes that’s so blinding that Clementine may as well be looking directly into the sun. Standing beside Ruby, the both of them watch Brody zip across the field in great fervor with Javier yelling approving comments on her spirited performance. She’s barely missed a catch today.

“Violet talked to her yesterday,” Ruby says as an answer to Clementine’s unspoken question. “I’m assumin’ they had a heart-to-heart talk and that Brody’s got a prom date now. Crazy how romantic feelings can have that kinda effect on you. Dunno how that's like.” 

Clementine glances at her. “Do you have anyone in mind you wanna ask?”

“Uh. Myself?” Ruby looks genuinely confused. “I ain’t third wheeling none of y’all.”

“I mean. You can go with me.”

“Sug, please.” Ruby turns and places a hand on Clementine’s shoulder, and says in a somewhat patronizing tone, “We all know that’s a total lie, so don’t go spewing that lil bullshitticle, okay?”

Clementine was going to use _bullshitticle_ from now on. “Alright. How about Mitch?”

“God, no. Do you even know about the time how he once tried to drool in somebody’s mouth ‘cause they were dying of thirst? He’s, like, a waste of testosterone and good genes. I ain’t dancin’ with him any time soon.”

Clementine grimaces. Mitch was a jewel cut in askew angles; unique yet off-putting. He’s cool but should definitely put on some cologne to mask the skunk smell. “Point taken.” 

As they’re having their fifteen minute break, Brody skips over to them with a brilliant smile on her face, and Clementine thinks that it’s _her_ turn to wear sunglasses now. Brody throws her arms around Clementine and Ruby, sighing into the open skies, “Isn’t today such a beautiful day to play baseball? Isn’t it just such a _beautiful_ day? God, you two are so beautiful. I have the most beautiful friends and the most beautiful prom date-slash-possible girlfriend. How can anything get more beautiful than this?”

“You said ‘beautiful’ six times,” Clementine says flatly. 

“I stopped listening the moment she opened her mouth,” Ruby grunts, picking her ear.

“Okay, now you two are just being _rude_ ,” Brody harrumphs, putting her hands on her hips, but then she lets out a dreamy sigh. There are sparkles in her eyes. _Sparkles_. “But! I’ll let it go for now because I’m in a beautiful mood. You know what? We totally need to schedule a shopping date stat. Also, should we pay for makeup or do it ourselves? Oh my God, wait. Clem, I _need_ to know. Who’re you planning to ask to prom?”

Clementine darts her eyes between the two of them who were staring at her with a knowing look. She’s so nervous that as a defense mechanism she resorts to half-assed stupidity. “I - uh. I mean. I dunno. Who is there to ask? There’s, like, more than a hundred seniors.”

Ruby rolls her eyes and plants her towel over her face, groaning. Brody raises her brows; her optimism was like a vanguard against Clementine’s ineptitude. “No offence, but you’re kinda dumb.”

“None taken.”

“Now, Clem. I know you’re an independent multicellular organism who doesn’t need another independent multicellular organism, but anybody with a logical brain and subpar observation skills can tell at your cute lil’ love struck face that _you’ve_ got the fuzzy jellies for Vi.” Brody glances at her nails, ignoring Clementine’s slack jawed reaction. “So if _you’re_ not gonna ask her, _I’m_ gonna ask her for you. Bitch.” She pauses. “Oh my God, scratch that. I am so sorry. Bitch sounds way too mean. Replace that with bench.”

Clementine is too shocked to even formulate a proper response to that, although she’s already seen this coming. All that tumbles out of her mouth is, “So you _are_ in cahoots with Louis! I fucking knew it, you sneaky assholes!”

“In my defense, I know flying sparks when I sense ‘em, alright? I trusted my intuition and I was right!” Brody grabs Clementine’s hands. “Don’t worry, Clem. You acting like a sputtering fool isn’t new, and because I’m your friend, I’m gonna help you plan the _perfect_ promposal.”

Clementine winces as Brody flings her hands around. “I don’t - just because - it doesn’t mean I’m going to prom, so - “

Brody takes Clementine’s by the shoulders and stares into her eyes with the expression of a nun possessed by a million-year old demon in an old Romanian church while emphasizing every word. “You. Are. Going. To. _Prom._ ”

“I - yes ma’am.”

Brody beams and lets go of Clementine, turning around with a sharp inhale. She happily looks into the distance like a protagonist in a coming-of-age indie film slathered with a vintage-sepia filter. A scary Brody entails that of puppy eyed appeals steeped with underlying threats, and nobody ever wants to get on her bad side even if she’s got the disposition of a Golden Retriever. Clementine has witnessed enough to not mess with her. 

So with that, it looks like Clementine’s officially going to prom. Shit.

-

Brody’s blabbermouth somehow reaches the rest of the school, though Clementine suspects it’s also the work of Louis who has a rather difficult time zipping up his mouth in times of complete excitement. That’s how, over the course of the next few days, every time Clementine turns the corner she is immediately bombarded by a line of seniors either a) trying to ask _her_ out to prom, or b) asking her _who_ she’s asking to prom. Clementine doesn’t think there was much value and importance to such a small matter, but apparently not to the rest of her fellow graduates.

Clementine ends up carrying an armful of bouquets to her locker while shouldering the uncomfortable guilt of having to reject proposal after proposal for a stupid dance event. But at least all the flowers are going to make her house smell all nice and earthy for a change - if AJ doesn’t try to eat them. His curiosity is outlandishly extreme sometimes.

Conveniently, while Clementine was in the middle of struggling to open her locker, Violet spots her as she’s walking down the hall and heading to art class. She deroutes and approaches Clementine, helpfully leaning against the wall instead of offering assistance like any human being with common decorum. Instead, she lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Ms. Popularity. Guess I know who’s winning the title of the esteemed prom queen.”

“ _No_.” Clementine wrenches her lock open before giving Violet a stern frown. “I am not winning that. If anybody nominates me, I’m gonna aim a ball at their heads so hard that it’s gonna pop an eye socket.” 

“That’s brutally specific, but I’m all here for that. Sounds like somethin’ that’d happen in a horror movie.” 

Clementine shoves her textbooks into her locker but gently tries to squeeze the bouquets in. It feels like she’s playing tetris, trying to fit and angle in the right places to achieve optimum success, but she fails when one of the bouquets plops onto the ground. Clementine stares dejectedly at it. “Why do people even want to go to prom with me?”

Violet shifts in her stance, growing uncomfortable by the look on her face and furrowed brows. “Um. Was that a rhetorical question?”

“Not really.”

“Uh. Okay. Well. Because you’re, like, the cool baseball captain? Stealing hearts like you steal bases? Or whatever you baseball freaks do.” 

“But that’s exactly it!” Clementine throws her hands up. “All I do is hit balls and run around in a circle! I mean, how does that make me cool? They just think I’m cool because it helps the team win but, like, that’s all just superficial bullshit. Once they really get to know me, they’ll lose interest and blah blah blah.”

“Yeah, you’re a total lameass.” Violet shrugs, standing up from the wall. But she cracks a smile at Clementine’s pout. “But you gotta give way more credit to yourself, dude. You _are_ cool. And not just ‘cause you can hit balls outta the park, but you - in the way you care about people. Your integrity. Your honesty. People make honesty out to be a complex thing, but you don’t, and that’s hard to find these days. So, I mean. Uh. You’re pretty cool in your own way, y’know?”

It’s like there’s someone striking a match and lighting up a fire in Clementine’s chest, burning all the way up to her cheeks. Flustered, Clementine lets out a nervous laugh and pointedly glares down at the fallen bouquet, unable to bring herself to look at Violet in eye. “Oh. Um. Thank you, I - um. That’s really sweet of you to say that. I’m beginning to think you’re on your way to be the next Rupi Kaur.”

“Fuck no. Please use anyone but Rupi Kaur.”

Clementine smiles in good humour. A spontaneous idea in mind, she bends down and picks up the bouquet. Without considering how it might look in a completely different context, Clementine hands the bouquet over to Violet. “Actually, just take this. I mean. I know your grandma likes to garden a lot and stuff. She’d like it, right? Or, uh. You can keep it too. I mean, I wish it was actually from me but it was actually from Sarah, but you know.” Clementine points at her locker. “Space.”

Violet blinks down at the bouquet of orange flowers. Then back up at Clementine, her cheeks dusted with a light pink. “I - okay? Okay. Thanks. That’s - uh, real cool of you.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Clementine agrees as she watches Violet cradle the bouquet in her arms. God, that’s cute. She’s gonna implode. “Cool, cool. Coolio.”

“Alright.”

“Yep. Alrighty.” 

Violet nods, awkwardly smiling. She jerks her shoulder to the side. “I’m just, gonna like, go. Now. To the only class I like in this hellhole. I guess I’ll see you later, Clem.”

Clementine salutes her goodbye, watching as Violet stiffly heads down the hall in a gait similar to a penguin trying to conceal a wedgie. As soon as Violet is nowhere in sight, Clementine turns around and drags her hands down her face in torment. Clementine can not believe she just did that. She just indirectly gave Violet flowers. _Flowers._ Maybe romance isn’t dead after all, but then again, Clementine has absolutely no skill in the field whatsoever. 

Clementine looks up suddenly. Should she ask Violet to prom? Well, considering she likes her - duh. But then again, she remembers Violet’s opinion about prom, and though Clementine unanimously agrees, she entertains the idea of sitting around at a formal event making fun of the preppy cliques - maybe even prank a few teachers on supervision especially if it’s a teacher they both mutually detest. And maybe Clementine would like to see how Violet looks all formally spiffed up. It probably won’t do too much good for her heart, though.

She scratches her head. Violet doesn’t seem like the person to like garish and fancy promposals - or promposals _itself_ , for that matter. But when she seeks advice from Dumb and Dumber the next day, Clementine starts to regret ever asking for any ounce of help. 

“No, no. Louis, we’re not doing a cowboy themed proposal,” Brody denies fervently. “That’s terrible! So cheesy, so bizarre, so - I don’t know. _Country_. What is this? Hannah Montana? No! We’re doing an alien-themed proposal. Vi loves space and creepy extraterrestrials. I mean, we can even do like a punk rock kinda proposal too. She said she’d die for Laura Jane Grace, once. I have, like, fake tattoos you can put on yourself, Clem.”

“Okay, now that’s just fucking tacky, Brody. What next? Fake tapers? Gauges? Snakebites? Blare _My Immortal_ through a boombox as she holds it over her head at Vi’s window? Clem’s gonna look like some scene girl in the early two-thousands. We ain’t doing that!” Louis exclaims. “And what’s so wrong with a country theme? Violet seems like a funky country lesbian. Have y’all ever played Harvest Moon? Give her a bunch of wheat and grass and get all those heart points. Ruby can _totally_ help.”

“Lou, that’s such a stupid idea.”

“No, _you’re_ stupid.”

“You are!”

Clementine rubs her forehead. “You’re _both_ stupid.”

Brody whirls around and points at her. “C’mon, Clem. You agree with me right? My idea is way better than Lou’s.”

“Uh, no way,” Louis scoffs, turning around with his hands on his hips. “Clem, I trust that you’re a rational human being who knows what’s right and what’s wrong. And the right thing to do in this case is to agree with _me_.”

As they engage in another argument, Clementine rolls her eyes to the ceiling and heaves a great sigh. To think she’d resort to Brody and Louis for help when Clementine has always specialized in directness and simplicity. Knowing that she’ll end up mortifying herself and will never be able to live it down if she goes through with their ridiculous plans, Clementine settles on taking matters into her own hands. So, with a sort of indifferent resolve, she leaves them behind at her locker and heads out.

She goes to McDonalds. 

 

 

 

Clementine looks down at the takeout bag and goes through a series of extensive self-doubt. This was going to be the cheapest promposal _ever_ , but it’s monumentally better than giving Violet wheat and looking like a wannabe rocker who only knows Blink-182. Plus, since it’s Thursday, Clementine knows that Violet’s stuck in detention due to her ongoing hatred for Mr. Carver, the photography teacher. Clementine’s getting the hang of Violet’s detention schedule, though she isn’t quite sure if it’s a little creepy that she’s committed it to memory. 

The walk back to school is relatively fast from McDonalds. She heads to the courtyard, trying to remember which one out of the multitude of windows belonged to Mr. Lingard. She sneaks across the flower beds, keeping out of sight underneath the window sills, until she spots the correct one. She peeps into the room, finding Mr. Lingard in the middle of his siesta while Violet was trying to juggle bags of chips in the peak of her boredom. 

“This is it,” she whispers to herself, glancing down at the McDonalds bag. Her stomach is giving out on her. “You better work, you stupid pieces of processed chicken.” 

With a sharp intake of breath, Clementine gently knocks on the window. She snorts when Violet drops all of the bags and whirls around, startled. Violet squints at Clementine in a moment of disbelief before she gets up from her seat and stealthily approaches the window, glancing at Mr. Lingard for reassurance. She unlocks the latch and opens it. 

“As much as I like the idea of you perpetually breaking me out of prison,” Violet whispers, “let’s not risk your own precious freedom.” 

Clementine darts a cautious eye at Mr. Lingard, the bag crumpling beneath her hand as she squeezes it for a moment of escalating panic. Violet is starting to look concerned at her lack of response, and though Clementine tries to construct a calm reply to reaffirm that she is, in fact, not dying - she ends up shoving the McDonalds bag at Violet’s face and says almost too casually, “Hey! Let’s go to prom.” 

She’s met with stunned silence. Violet slowly takes the bag in her hands and brings it down to reveal her wide-eyed expression, mouth hanging open in shock and at a loss of words. Alarms sound in Clementine’s brain as she chants _abort, abort, abort_ -

When Violet speaks her voice trails slowly, like her words are unwilling to take flight, “Did you just ask me to prom?”

“Uhhhhhhhh - “ Clementine short-circuits, drawling, “yeeees?” 

Violet bites down on her lip. She carefully opens the bag to minimize the sound and takes out a box. Her eyes bulge and she lets out a tiny gasp. “Holy fucknuckles, these are chicken nuggets. Clem, you bought me chicken nuggets just to ask me to prom?”

“Maaaaaybe?”

Violet pops one into her mouth and sighs contentedly like she’s ascended to heaven. She’s shining with absolute mirth when she leans forward, piling chicken nuggets into her mouth with the same momentum of a tractor plowing the fields. “Fuckin’ hell, you’ve won me over. They better have nuggets too or I’m gonna fuckin’ sue them.”

Clementine blinks. “I’ve - what?” 

Violet pauses in the middle of eating. She starts to stammer away with a red face when the realization seems to dawn on her. “Holy shit, you just asked me to prom and I said yes.”

“You said yes? You said yes?” Clementine jumps excitedly in place, struggling to keep her voice down. “You said _yes_? Wait. You said yes, right? You did!”

Clementine lets out a cheer but was subsequently interrupted by having a nugget shoved into her mouth to shut her up. She chews innocently as the both of them glance at Mr. Lingard who stirs in his sleep, but when he shows no sign of waking up any time soon, Clementine grins up at Violet who reciprocates the excitement with a bashful smile. 

“Wow,” Clementine beams. “That was pretty anticlimactic.” 

“Can’t believe I’m gonna be grouped with the same people I’ve been makin’ fun of my whole life. Y’know, I was planning to just go to the diner that night and pretend everyone didn’t exist.” Violet shrugs as she nibbles on a nugget. “So, you’re gonna have to take responsibility for my cynical presence raining down on the parade of pretentious fuckers enclosed in the same room for the evening.”

“That’s okay. Everyone’s there basically for the after party.” Clementine hums. “It’ll be fun. We can make fun of the football team. Or Louis.”

“Definitely.”

They share a quiet laugh. Clementine is so happy that she can swallow the sky instead of the other way around until her mouth turns blue. “So, uh. Guess I’ll just - we’ll talk later? I mean, I should probably tell Brody so she can organize the whole transportation thing. But she’s probably gonna lose her marbles.” 

“Ugh, right. Brody. I’m never gonna hear the end of it.” Violet wrinkles her nose. “Sounds good. Um. Thanks for the nuggets.” 

“No problem. After all, it’s proper prom nugg _etiquette_.” 

She receives an unimpressed look as a response. Clementine frowns and crosses her arms. “If we’re going to prom together, you’re gonna have to try and find my attempts at being funny, _funny_.” 

“As if I’m not already miserable on a beautiful day.” Violet rolls her eyes before she lifts up a finger and presses it against the tip of Clementine’s nose. “Better get going, anti-hero. Linguini’s gonna wake up soon and I wanna finish up these nuggets before he flies off the handle. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Clementine finds herself short-circuiting and shriveling up into a dried prune whenever Violet does anything remotely more than friendly. Her nose just got _booped_ and Clementine is convinced that heaven is exactly this place on earth. “I - okay. Totally. Yes. That sounds - _great_. Alright, I’ll just be going, then. Nice chat. We’re going to prom! Okay, I’ll shut up now. Bye.” 

She waves farewell and turns around, ready to remove herself from this situation and from this entire world, when she hears Violet teasingly reply, “Bye, Little Bear.” 

Caught off guard, Clementine amplifies her own embarrassment by tripping over the wooden ledge of the flower bed and nearly going splat on the ground; her face is so hot that she feels as though it’s gonna melt into fondue if any damage is done to her ego (and heart) again for the last time. Clementine immediately springs up, clearing her throat and dusting off her clothes. Violet is watching her with a look of amusement while pillowing her chin on a hand, her elbow resting on the window sill. 

Clementine curtly nods, feigning composure. “ _Ciao_.” 

She hears Violet snort behind her as Clementine quickly runs off. Her head was dizzy with delight and disbelief and joy streaked through her like a comet. To think that chicken nuggets were the way to win Violet’s heart and the window to her soul that enticed her into accepting Clementine’s impromptu and unceremonious request to prom. 

She’s glad that she didn’t carry out Louis’ country idea or Brody’s bizarre amalgamation of space and punk rock - low maintenance proposals were the best bet, and also Clementine’s specialty. In a moment of gratitude, she brings her hands together and quietly thanks the heavens for those stupid pieces of processed chicken. In all her life of apathy towards prom, Clementine doesn’t think she’s ever been this excited to attend such a mundane thing in an extraordinary way. 

As she’s walking along the sidewalk, playing with the pin on her letterman jacket, Clementine smiles underneath the orange sky and thinks to herself: _life is good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for all the love as always folks !!!!!! <333 keep calm and chicken nugget on


	6. i'm running out of puns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone: pretty sure violet likes you  
> violet: yah i like you
> 
> clem: how do you know violet likes me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i am SO sorry for this very late chapter that is also shorter than the usual,,, i've been in a creative funk lately and i feel really bad for leaving this in the gutter for a while ; ___ ; but it'll pick up the pace next chapter because : PROM !!!!!! 
> 
> i hope u pals enjoy this one!!! and thank u always so much for reading and for ur support !!! <3333

Life is not good. 

Clementine can deal with a lot of things: someone eating the food she specifically saved for herself in the fridge, missing an easy fastball that took a strike to her ego, Louis’ melodrama whenever he has to angrily swoon and sing about Aasim, AJ calling teachers unpleasant nicknames because of her mouthy influence - you name it. But the one thing in the entire world Clementine can _not_ stand is shopping.

Scratch that; _prom_ shopping. 

She stands there in the middle of a boutique, her soul detached and floating away into the troposphere as a result of complete ennui and discontent while Brody eagerly lifts dress after dress over herself but never with satisfaction. Clementine has always known her to be picky but never _that_ sensitively particular. 

What’s worse is that Brody was also shopping for Clementine as well, holding up dresses to see if it matched Clementine’s toned physique and disposition. But the only thing that Clementine wanted to match was her damn tracksuit she’d like to wear instead.

“Seriously. What’s so wrong about a tracksuit? I’m showing my athletic spirit and how consistent I am with patterns. And it’s easy to move around in!” Clementine complains endlessly as Brody drags her out of the boutique, marching down the mall to another store. Ruby follows after them, documenting the entire journey on her phone while supplying snarky commentary. And for some fucking reason, Louis tagged along. 

“Oh, oh. I know. Wear a fursuit instead, Clem. You’ll be the cutest orange feather duster,” Louis quips, his arms folded leisurely behind his head. He hides behind Ruby when Clementine makes a move to smack his arm. 

Ruby eyes them distastefully. “What is this? Halloween? It’s not even the prom theme. It’s - sorry, what’s the prom theme again?”

“We’re still deciding between Starry Night or Neon Rave,” Brody says, peeking into one of the boutiques before shaking her head and continuing her way down the mall. “I voted for Starry Night but the majority of the committee wants Neon Rave. Like, why a rave? That’s so messy and, like, unrefined! Completely unromantic!”

“Rave all the way, baby!” Louis exclaims. “Starry Night is so boring and old-fashioned. What are we? The baby boomers?”

“Shut up, Lou. You don’t even know how to romance,” Brody retorts, pouting. “You’re probably gonna ask Aasim to go steady with you by putting a glow-in-the-dark snap bracelet on him. Super trashy.” 

Clementine rubs her ears, dreading her entire life in that exact moment. She doesn’t know what she did in her other life to deserve this kind of disaster. Did she commit carnage? Robbed too many dead bodies? Leave someone behind to suffer alone? Well, she hopes not. But it sure feels like torture to submit to a shopping campaign for a one-day fancy dance event. 

After walking through numerous boutiques and convincing Brody that no, she looks amazing in a mermaid tail dress and that no, she doesn’t look like she’s about to rip the fabric in half - but ultimately to no avail, they take a lunch break at the food court. Clementine would rather stuff Big Macs into her animate stomach and call it a day rather than continuing this torturous, repetitive cycle of walk and window shop. She feels exhausted and they’ve only been walking around for at least an hour.

Clementine turns to Ruby, who was dipping her fries in a paper cup of ketchup. “You’ve got an idea of what you wanna wear, Ruby?” 

“Twilight,” Ruby deadpans. “One half of the gown is gonna be dark blue for Edward, and the other half is gonna be dark red for Jacob. Gonna print their faces out and glue ‘em smack on each respective side. Then, I’ll match the look with a pair of shiny white heelys. Whaddya think?”

“That’s absolutely horrible,” Louis says with the brightest face, “and bloody magnificent. But aren’t those the colours of the Confederate flag?”

“Shit. That didn’t come to mind at all. I just thought I’d associate blue for Edward’s sickly complexion and red for Jacob’s steamin’ hot abs,” Ruby grumbles. “Fuckin’ America.”

Clementine stabs a piece of teriyaki chicken with her fork. “All of you are going to be the death of me, I swear to God.”

Brody lets out a gasp as she looks up from her phone. Clementine leans over and finds that she was messaging Violet. “Guys. I asked Vi what she was wearing ‘cause, like, I gotta get sartorial details so I know how to find the perfect fit for Clem, and she said she’s gonna wear a suit. A _suit_.” 

“That’s hot,” Clementine says through a mouthful, and shrugs when all eyes fall on her. “What? Girls in suits are hot. But you know what’s hotter? Me in a _track_ suit.”

“Clem. If I weren’t a pacifist, I would’ve beat your ass.”

“What about a baseball dress?”

Ruby pats her on the shoulder. “Hun, that’s revolting.”

“Fine. A skort?”

Everybody reacts in disgust. Brody wrinkles her nose. “That’s disgusting, Clem. This is _serious_. You two are going to be the cutest couple ever at prom and we have to make sure that fucking happens, even though you did the most unromantic promposal ever in the history of promposals. So, I’m thinking dazzle razzle rhinestones - no wait, ruffles. Lots of lace. Maybe off the shoulder? Strapless? Oh my God, there are countless of options. What colour?”

“What if _I_ want to wear a suit too?” Clementine cuts in, but was ignored by their eager establishment of plans. 

“I’m thinking orange,” Louis says, “because - you know. Clementines. Nevermind. Brody, we should totally put glitter in her hair. Sparkle sparkle bitch energy at its finest, you get my flow?”

“Lou, that may be the smartest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth today.”

The two of them high-five and cheer. Clementine massages her head in despair while Ruby pats her back as a gesture of comfort. This was the worst.

Out of all the people in her life, it was Brody and Louis who reacted in similar extreme magnitudes of complete bliss. The moment Clementine let the both of them know that she and Violet were going to prom together, Brody screamed and almost fainted; Louis, on the other hand, laughed hysterically and skipped around like he’d taken Mitch’s stash of grass and accidentally smoked some. 

Once composed enough, they held hands and twirled around like they were playing Ring Around the Rosie - so fast that Clementine feared they were about to take off like a helicopter. And then they did a fraternity-esque handshake as celebration to the success of their matchmaking plans. Fucking _cahooters_. 

Violet suffered the same level of annoyance from the both of them too but at least she didn’t get to experience the woes of being dragged out for prom shopping. Violet had sent her condolences via text message the night before, sounding completely unsympathetic. 

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Just sayin’ but prom’s, like - three months away. Y’all are stressin’ over this way too early.”

“Three months isn’t a lot of time, Ruby!”

Clementine eats her chicken sadly. She loves not knowing what to do after high school ends. “Thanks for reminding me about my careerless crisis.” 

“You’re welcome,” Brody beams and claps her hands. “Now, c’mon! Eat your food quickly ‘cause we’ve still got a lotta shops to go through in the mall.” 

Clementine begrudgingly piles the lot of rice into her mouth. The _things_ she does for her friends.

-

Clementine watches Louis gaze lovingly at Aasim from across the table, too busy waxing poetic in his head to pay any heed to the cafeteria tacos he purchased on a whim that are now probably soggy and lukewarm. Clementine takes a bite out of her sandwich, grateful that she didn’t taste anything bizarre in a concoction of cheese and ham, and finds amusement in the way Aasim pointedly ignores Louis’ obvious puppy-like attention. He’s got eye bags so heavy they look like they’re about to hit the floor.

“Louis,” Aasim begins in a controlled voice, taking in a deep breath while keeping his eyes on his textbook. “I only agreed to sit here because you kept pestering me to the point that I was about to rupture a vein. But if you don’t stop staring at me right this instance, I’m going to take two of those green peas and shove them up your hairy nostrils.” 

“You can shove whatever you want anytime, man,” Louis sighs dreamily. Clementine chokes on her sandwich and urgently grabs for her water bottle, and Aasim goes tomato red. He looks torn between wanting to punch Louis in the face out of embarrassment and out of irritation. She’d vote for him to do both. 

“So, Aasim,” Clementine loudly changes the topic, turning around to face him. “What’cha studying? You look like you’ve been up all night.”

“Got an algebra test later today. It’s brutal.” He rubs his face in misery. “I tried to put energy drinks in my black coffee last night but I blacked out when I stood up too fast. Wasted a fuckton of study time because of that. But, uh - at least I’m alive?”

Clementine winces. She supposes Aasim’s study addict mindset will always prevail over the health of his wellbeing. She nudges the textbook aside and plants an apple in front of him. “I think you should eat a fruit.” 

“You know what you need, Aasim?” Louis leans forward. “I’ll get you a jar of good ol’ vitamin C tablets that tastes like oranges. Your pee will glow and dazzle like a chernobyl sunset.” 

Clementine scrunches up her face in disgust. Aasim gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m this close to revoking your prom date status, Louis. I’m gonna incinerate your entire collection of turtle ties if you don’t shut up and eat your cheap quality tacos already.” 

Louis hums and picks up his taco, happily ignoring the fact that everything inside came spilling out. Aasim turns to Clementine, his brows raised in a moment of recollection. “Oh yeah. I heard you’re going to prom with Violet. Does that mean you two are finally dating now or what?”

This time, Clementine properly chokes on her sandwich and slaps her hand against the table in a moment of alarm. Louis does nothing but laugh while Aasim frantically pats her on the back and awkwardly fumbles around with his hands, unsure of what to do, until Clementine finally coughs the piece of sandwich out. She looks back at Aasim in the most terrified manner, her voice sounding as though she’s been gargling rusty nails, “ _What_?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Aasim throws an apple seed at Louis’ face to get him to shut up. “Dude. Not to, like, spoil shit but Violet _never_ shuts up about you in algebra. Do you know how terrible it is to see the image of your face pop up when I’m trying to round all real zeros in a graph to the nearest integer and find a polynomial function P of lowest degree? We’re supposed to be desk partners but I’ve become her personal harbourer of secrets instead.” 

Clementine grabs her water bottle and chugs it down. She mentally cannot comprehend the fact that Violet _talks_ about her, so the only thing Clementine holds onto is, “She takes algebra?”

“Is that seriously the only thing you got from what I just said?” Aasim deadpans. “God, you two are hopeless. Don’t you understand implications?”

Louis pipes in ever so helpfully, “They need an episode of Blue’s Clues. Gotta teach them how to catch on subtlety and actually use their brains to decode what it means. Quick, Clem. Since Vi secretly talks about you, you should secretly talk about her too. What do you wanna physically swoon over right now?”

“Shut up, Louis. Eat your fucking tacos.” Clementine’s face is burning. “As if I’d talk to you about Violet and how she’s like the cool warrior type with bone structure that could cut glass, and how surprisingly soft her hands are, and how her laugh is the cutest thing in the entire world - like. Did you know she snorts? She _snorts_. God shouldn’t give that much power to mortal beings. But I’d listen to her laugh all day. If I could, I’d record her laugh to use as my alarm clock. Nevermind, that’s kinda creepy.”

Louis disappears underneath the table in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Aasim looks as though he was on the verge of doing the same thing. Clementine pouts and hunches over in a moment of timidity, continuing to ask, “What does she even talk about? Like, I know she talks about _me_ but like - hey, shut the fuck up Louis or _I’ll_ be shoving those peas up your nostrils - what does she talk about _regarding_ me? Should I be worried? Concerned? Flattered? What am I supposed to feel?”

Aasim raises his brows and grabs his thermos of chai. “I think you should figure that out on your own ‘cause let me reiterate: you’re taking her to _prom_.” 

“Yeah, but I bribed her with chicken nuggets,” she mumbled. “She probably thinks it’s a platonic kinda thing.”

Aasim throws his hands up in defeat. Louis looks genuinely frustrated now - a total one-eighty from laughing hysterically to himself seconds ago at Clementine’s romantic ineptitude. He says, “Jesus criminy, Clem. It took you forever to realize you actually like Vi and now, it’s gonna take fuckin’ decades for you to realize that, ya know - the girl you’re taking to prom to _likes_ you back.”

“Wh - how do you know? Where’s the proof, huh?”

“Don’t you remember the drinking game?”

Clementine merely stares at him. Louis shares a look of agony with Aasim. “I give up. Let’s go, man. We’re gonna friend-xile Clem until she realizes the _truth_.” 

“Why can’t you just tell me now?” Clementine calls after them, throwing her arms up in an exasperated shrug. She watches the both of them clamber out of the table and head to the exit; Louis throws an arm around Aasim’s shoulder as they probably discussed the wiser side of life, leaving Clementine to steep in her own oblivious imagination. Turns out she still has layers upon layers of accidental denial to work through, though it’d be nice if her friends didn’t act so sneaky like kids snooping around a cookie jar.

Clementine petulantly blows a stray strand of curly hair away from her face. This calls for some serious action. 

Considering Louis and Aasim has friend-xiled her for the time being, Clementine reaches for answers from various kinds of people to the not-so-obvious question: “How do you know if somebody likes you back?”

Marlon reacts indifferently, never looking up from trying to pull a splinter out from his fingertip. “As much as I’d like to help you, Clem - sorry to say that I’ve got no clue as to how it’s like to have feelings.” He pauses and looks up. “For people - feelings for people, I mean. I have feelings, you know. Just not - uh. People feelings. Romantic feelings?”

Unhelpful, but at least he was cooperative. Next off: Ruby.

“You don’t, sug. You just absolutely do _not_ know. Y’know why? ‘Cause people are as fickle as Schrödinger’s catnip and they’re too stubborn to let down their walls of oleander to communicate.” Ruby lets a toothpick hang from her mouth, speaking with an exaggerated country twang in the middle of an elementary school playground. She looks off into the distance like a heartbroken cowboy. “You’ll just have to move on and fall in love with the unknown instead.”

“Ruby, was that something from a Nicholas Sparks’ novel?”

“What? Of course not.” Ruby’s nose flares. “It’s from Sandra Hills.”

Somewhat alarmed at the knowledge of Ruby’s interest in harlequin romance novels, Clementine moves onto the next person: Mitch.

Mitch raises a brow, blowing a plume of smoke out from his mouth. Clementine keeps the collar of her shirt over her nose to block out the poor smell. She's surprised he hasn't gotten caught yet for getting high outside the school parking lot. “You do know that you’re askin’ a dude who realized his sexuality by watching Sonic the Hedgehog porn, right?”

“Louis says that makes you a furry.”

“Fuckin’ Louis,” Mitch curses and Clementine unanimously agrees with that. “Well. You gotta know if they exude, like, this kinda vibe or energy towards you, ya know what I’m saying?” 

When Clementine shakes her head, he rolls his eyes back and sighs. “Like - y’know. Do they give off the impression that they wanna insert the coin into the lottery? Put the dinky into the urethra hole? Pecker into the bung holeo? Rub and, ya know, lick the pit of the peaches? Handcuffs? Wait. What kinda person are you even into in the first place?” 

Clementine looks at him blankly. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but all of that sounds weird. Should I be concerned that your brother’s gonna be influenced by you?”

“Nah. Willy’s a good little shit. He’d rather build lego contraptions and watch Bill Nye than pay attention to my ass.” Mitch snorts. “Although, y’know how it is with growing teenagers. Hormones. Puberty. Hair in the most uncomfortable places. Fluctuating libido. Hey, didn’t I tell you that he never shuts up about masturb - “

“Goodbye.” 

Mitch proving to be high along with his completely useless advice and unnecessary disclosure of personal information, Clementine reluctantly reaches out to Brody about the matter.

“What? You asked Mitch? Clem, _why_ would you ask the guy who watched Sonic the Hedgehog porn for love advice?” Brody looks scandalized. “He probably wants to peg Knuckles when he’s in his little green leaf dreamland. You don’t wanna ask someone who wants to peg an anthropomorphic echidna, Clem!”

Clementine shrugs. Brody huffs and starts to focus on a more well-developed answer. “As for your question, I’d say you just - it’s a gut feeling, you know? You gotta trust your intuition and keep a lookout for little clues. How do they show their affection? Do they try to spend as much time as they can with you? Give you things that reminded them of you? Vocalize how much you mean to them? Express themselves? You just - you gotta judge for yourself in times like that.”

“Is that how you knew Sophie returned your feelings?”

“Oh, no. She just called me her favourite pain in the ass and that she wanted us to grow old and miserable together back in middle school.” Brody perks up with a brilliant smile. “That was the moment I knew we were meant to be!”

Clementine frowns. Brody was also unhelpful, though Clementine appreciated the effort. With her friends being totally useless in the subject matter, she turns to a trusted adult. Well, semi-adult.

Javier lets his espresso dribble down his chin as he stares at Clementine in surprise from the sudden question. Then he wipes his mouth with his sleeve and clears his throat, placing a hand on top of her shoulder to say, “You’ve fallen in love, huh?”

Disgruntled at the patronizing treatment, she swats his hand away. “That’s not answering my question, you geezer."

“Oh, _ouch_. Merciless as ever, bud - no, seriously. How am I supposed to talk about my love life with my students? That’s awkward as hell.” Javier shakes his head as he brings his mug to his lips. “But to put it simply - it’s hard to tell most of the time, Clem. It’s either they’re super secretive about it or they do something big that gives it away. I mean, I didn’t know Paul liked _me_ back until he shoved his tongue down my throat and - “

She slaps her hands over her ears and sings, “Okay, byee!” 

 

 

Clementine was met with defeat and mental exhaustion. The advice from the people in her life were as useless as the ‘ueue’ in ‘queue’ and because she’s barely gotten anything of substance, Clementine dwells on it a lot more than she should. And when she’s supposed to be focused on winning the game, she’s more focused on decrypting Violet’s actions and the possible myriad of meanings behind them instead.

 _How does she show her affection?_ Clementine racks her brain for answers as she runs her laps, maintaining the team morale by being calm and collected in the usual hurricane of performance anxiety and nervous wracked bowel movements. She’s lost in thought as her body continues on in auto mode. Clementine thinks back to the times Violet could have shown affection. 

Teasing? Nicknames? Actually, the pins were a big giveaway of affection. Clementine had been joking about that, but Violet actually carrying out such a thing means that she was listening a lot more closely than she let on. Maybe listening was a way Violet showed her affection. Hm. 

_Do they try to spend as much time as they can with you?_ Clementine warms up her arms at the batter’s circle. As she heads to the home plate and settles in her stance, she wonders about Violet’s allotment of time. 

They’ve hung out a lot more than Clementine expected. Eating junk food after practice, collectively bonding over terrible teachers, stargazing on the rooftop of Violet’s cottage - most of the time, it was Violet who invited Clementine to do those things. 

Clementine swings her bat and barely pays attention to the satisfying _clink_ of it colliding with the baseball, sending the ball flying in a high arc over the tall trees. She’s jogging past the bases as clamor erupts around her, her head too lost in the clouds to notice. 

Violet does spend a lot of time with Clementine when they have the chance. It was never a dull moment even if they didn’t talk or do anything extraordinary. 

_Vocalize how much you mean to them? Express themselves?_ Well. Violet has more of a tendency to express her irritation than anything sentimental, although she did tell Clementine she was cool and pretty. 

Clementine feels her face heat up as she dives for the ball and successfully catches it in her mitt, prompting the umpire to call an out for the opponent. But Violet trusting Clementine enough to talk about her family and ex-girlfriend signified that Clementine means quite a lot to Violet, doesn’t it? 

“Clem! You’re a monster player!” Brody exclaims as she hugs Clementine’s arm and nudges her cheek against her shoulder. “We won, you amazing piece of shit! Why do you look so distracted?”

“Huh?” Clementine shakes her head out of the reverie she was in, suddenly aware of how she was being crowded by her teammates and having her head knuckled as a gesture of camaraderie. “What? What happened?”

Ruby places a hand over Clementine’s forehead. “Are you sick or somethin’? We just won the game against Richmond, you doofus.”

Clementine blinks and looks down at her glove. “Oh yeah.”

“Please tell me you didn’t _forget_ you were in a game.”

“I was preoccupied with a pressing concern that required all of my energy and attention,” Clementine yells as she’s being carried out into the field to begin the line of handshakes. “So I went on auto-pilot for a while!”

Clementine was still thinking about Violet as she shakes the hands of Richmond’s players. While taking the hand of Tripp, Richmond’s stalwart coach, Clementine searches around the bleachers for a particular figure and spots Violet heading down the stairs, kicking Louis in the derriere after he said something probably stupid. She quickly says goodbye to the Richmond team, dodges Javier’s attempt to ruffle her hair, and runs towards Violet who was heading outside of the fence. 

A cloud of doubt hovers above her. Clementine still can’t be too sure about the plausibility of reciprocated feelings - there has to be something _more_ , something else to top it all off to bring it together into complete certainty. There has to be a blatantly more obvious and bigger indicator of feelings than having grease sitting in the well of their stomachs and being approved as a partner-in-crime. 

Clementine nods determinedly to herself. Good thinking.

“Hey,” Clementine greets Violet with a wave as she jogs towards her. Up close, Clementine notices how Violet was painfully overdressed for the warm weather - not to mention that her outfit nearly consisted an entirety of all black. Clementine winces and starts to sweat by proxy. “Wow. You look hot.” 

Violet stares at her, bug-eyed. Clementine blanches when she realizes how her words sounded like without context. “I mean - your clothes! It’s like, super warm right now and you look like you’re dressed for the ice rink and - and you know, that’s not good because if you overheat you’re gonna, like, collapse. You should wear a t-shirt. Shorts. You know, to breathe ‘cause it’s - hot. _I’m_ feeling hot right now just looking at you. I’m just making this worse, aren’t I? I’m gonna shut up now.”

Violet’s mouth twitches but she immediately covers her mouth. She clears her throat. “That’s cool. No worries.”

“You were totally gonna laugh at me, weren’t you?”

“What? No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Violet rolls her eyes and tosses her a folded up piece of paper. “You’re such a kid, Clem. You and Lou are like two peas in a pod. But you’re, like, the better half of the pod ‘cause Lou sucks.” 

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a well-deserved compliment,” Clementine replies wryly as she taps the piece of paper against her hand. Then she frowns at it, attempting to unfold it only to be frantically stopped by Violet. “What’s this?”

“Consider it a you-beat-me-to-promposing-so-here-was-what-I-was-planning-to-do-that-is-in-no-comparison-to-what-you-did.” 

Clementine blinks, laughing nervously. She wished subtitles existed in real life because she can never trust her own hearing. “You - uh. You were planning to ask me to prom too?”

“Of course you’d only fixate on that.” Violet snorts, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “Just open it when I’m not around. And, like, I’m really sorry in advance if you end up findin’ it a lot more creepy than flattering.” 

Clementine doesn’t quite understand what Violet means considering she has no clue what the piece of paper contained that could be so powerful enough to mortify Violet into hiding. Clementine was ready to barrage Violet with a string of questions when Violet interrupts her by checking her phone. “Anyway. I can’t really hang out today either. I promised Gran we’d watch old episodes of Jerry Springer together, so looks like I’m stuck eatin’ her spaghetti and meatballs while watching a bunch of ladies fight over pot-bellied white douchebags you’d only find in the sex offender registry.” 

Before Clementine even has the chance to react, Violet shoots her a tentative smile as a goodbye and dashes off like a Roman warrior who got caught in enemy camps for stealing a shiny helmet. Clementine frowns down at the piece of paper. It was either a half-assed love note or a terrible joke as retribution to all of Clementine’s past puns. 

Sighing, Clementine tucks the paper into her pocket. She’ll wait until she gets home to indulge in the mystery.

 

She forgot about the mystery.

In her defense, as soon as Clementine stepped foot into the house, she was welcomed by AJ’s bloodcurdling tantrum aimed at the coercion of eating vegetables. The first thing she saw was Lee’s head covered in Chinese broccoli, holding a plate of leftover lentil and chickpea curry with the most distressed expression scrawled over his face. Meanwhile, AJ was mid-pause from spitting out his carrots. 

“As soon as I laid the broccoli out, he just started throwin’ it like he was flinging confetti at Duck’s sweet sixteen,” Lee said, aghast. “He likes broccoli, doesn’t he?”

Cue the next twenty minutes of coaxing AJ into eating his vegetables, helping Lee clean up the dinner table and the kitchen, and stacking train blocks with AJ until it was time for him to sleep. As soon as the clock landed on ten-thirty, Clementine immediately went to shower and was out like a light as soon as she hit her bed.

When morning ascended softly with diffused light scattered across the sky, Clementine jolts awake and realized that she’s completely misplaced the piece of paper.

“What the fuck,” she whispers, frantically rummaging through the pockets of the jeans she had changed into only to come out empty-handed. She checks her letterman jacket, the breast pocket of her baseball t-shirt - even her damn socks, but there was nothing. Clementine was sure she put the paper in at least one of her pockets, but she couldn’t remember which. 

She’s turning her closet inside out when she suddenly remembers about her baseball uniform. She freezes. She put them in the wash last night. _She put them in the wash._

“Jesus,” Lee says, whirling around as Clementine runs past him in the hall with a crescending scream, “don’t you all know that screaming dead in the morning is a blatant show of subliminal disrespect?”

“I don’t know what that means!” AJ shouts from his bedroom.

Clementine pulls the lid of the washing machine up and hurriedly searches for the pockets of her baseball uniform that was damp and wrinkled from being left overnight. Dread fills the pit of her stomach when she takes out the remains of the paper that had been completely shredded in the washing machine. She stares at the unsalvageable scraps, horrified at her own neglect, before she dashes back to her room. 

Clementine was tripping over her sweatpants as she quickly tugged them on as she throws on a hoodie that was thrown haphazardly on the floor for who knows how long. She hears Lee knock on the door before he opens it, his face twisting into that of confusion. 

“You’re already going to school?” he asks. “Not to be nosy, but did you even brush your teeth?”

“This is urgent, okay? I’m a raging dumpster fire! I don’t deserve to be given good things if I’m just going to forget about them and put them in the wash and unintentionally throw away the efforts of somebody who is important to me!” Clementine pulls on mismatched socks and ties back her disorderly hair into a ponytail. “Guilt is a very effective motivator to communicate because if I don’t march down to her place right now and apologize for being a despicable jock with a pea-sized brain, then what good am I as a human being?”

“Let’s not go overboard with the self-deprecation, shall we?” Lee pats her on the head as she stands by the door. “Athleticism doesn’t determine your integrity. Well. Maybe it does. I’m not too sure - either way, yes! Go ahead and strengthen your friendship with the power of honesty!” 

That’s how Clementine finds herself running at six-thirty in the morning, all the way to Violet’s cottage that was quite a far distance when travelling by foot. Down the curving road and the carpet of towering zelkova trees, Clementine is sweating buckets by the time she enters the halcyon neighborhood. She slows down and stops for a moment to recover from being winded. When she had been considering going on morning runs, this was definitely something she _did_ not have in mind. 

Arriving at Violet’s cottage, she pauses with her fist mid-air about to knock on the door, completely disregarding the doorbell. It was shy of seven o’clock in the morning. Would anyone even be awake? But worse - what if Clementine wakes them up? She can only imagine how grumpy grandmothers are from being deprived of their needed hours of sleep. 

When she quite literally punches the door instead of knocking, Clementine starts panicking. A lot. 

She hasn’t prepared a speech. What is she supposed to say? _Hey Violet, I completely forgot about the piece of paper you gave me that should be monumentally important but I am terrible human being that threw it into the wash so please feel free to stab me with a goddamn spoon -_

The door opens and Violet appears with a bemused expression and pillow lines creasing her cheeks, her birdnest hair sticking up in awkward angles and wearing an oversized t-shirt that covered her shorts. Clementine detects a hint of annoyance but mostly confusion from Violet’s voice. “Clem? As much as I like your company - what are you doing here?” 

Clementine is cool. She’s calm. She’s collected. Even if she’s fucked up, Clementine doesn’t lose her cool. Because she _is_ cool. She’s not going to go on an incessant ramble - no. She’s going to be direct, concise, and wholeheartedly genuine. “I am so sorry but I woke up today with the shittiest realization that I put the paper you gave me yesterday into the wash because it was in my uniform’s pocket and - I didn’t mean to forget, I _swear_. I was hoping that once I came home I could hop in the shower and get comfortable in the safety of my bed and open up whatever you gave me but then AJ kept denying his vegetables so I had to make him eat his vegetables, and Lee was kind of a mess so I had to clean up with him, and then I had to get AJ into bed because he likes it when I read him his stories although they’re kind of bleak because it’s all about death, and then I was knocked out cold as soon as I went to bed because God, guys are _exhausting_. So now, I will never know what was inside the actual paper because my dumbass found it in little wet pieces in the wash and I am a terrible person. Please actually stab me with a spoon because I am very fucking sorry.” 

Clementine takes in a deep breath and slowly exhales it. Cool, calm, and collected. She nailed it. 

Violet is staring at her, more wide-awake than before. She has her mouth open but then she closes it. She sets her shoulders but then deflates. A series of conflicting expressions flash across her face before her mouth starts to twitch, as though she was trying to suppress a smile. 

“Jesus Christ,” Violet mutters under her breath. She directs her next words to Clementine, visibly unfazed by Clementine’s long prattle. “Just - wait here.” 

The door closes. Clementine blinks at the closed door. A few moments later, the door opens again and Violet has her sketchbook in hand. She’s scribbling something over a page and once she’s done, she tucks the pencil along her ear and rips out the page. Violet folds the paper into a square and hands it to Clementine. “Here’s another one, then.” 

Clementine stares at it. “What?”

“You can open it now. I’ll just - close the door.”

“ _What_?”

Violet grabs Clementine’s hand, pries her hand open, and shoves the folded paper into her palm. “Shut up, take it, open it, and don’t make fun of me.” 

“Why would I - “

Violet disappears behind the door as she closes it, leaving Clementine baffled. She looks down at the piece of paper in her hand. Talk about mystery - considering how quick that was, Clementine assumes it’s probably just a terrible pun about prom. 

Clementine gingerly unfolds the piece of paper until every edge was smoothed out and she holds it up in the light. A pair of familiar, graphite eyes was staring right back at her, varying shades of gray sketched in with the blend of harsh lines to create depth. Among the eyes was a face Clementine knew all too well, because it was _hers_. 

The drawing looked rather candid: wide vigilant eyes alert and mouth parted slightly, and Clementine feels a little embarrassed to be looking at a drawn, beautified version of herself. Even the intricate texture of her hair was impeccably clean and realistic. There were faint strokes of charcoal in there too; a smudging quality that rendered the drawing watery like a reflection in a rippled puddle. 

Violet drew this. Violet saw Clementine, drew what she saw, and it was more than Clementine could have ever imagined. 

This is that _more_ ; the more Clementine needed to be certain. Clementine doesn’t know what to think.

She notices lines of messy handwriting along the bottom of the drawing. Clementine squints at its illegibility before she makes out the words to be: _you draw attention, so i’ll draw you_. And then below it was: _that was the stupidest thing i ever wrote. do you just wanna go to prom with me?_

There’s no way Violet could have whipped this up in less than five minutes. That means this drawing was already there in the privacy of her sketchbook. That means this drawing of Clementine wasn’t the first.

Maybe it’s the way the sun is shining over the drawing in broken angles, ricocheting off the paper to land on her chest as if its warmth was seeping through her skin. The world is a jumble of blurry figures and gaudy colours and at first, Clementine hears nothing but white noise until she takes in a breath and everything comes rushing back in clarity. Something inside her untangles. Clementine looks up at the door and has her heart shaking when she knocks. 

There’s a brief minute of silence. Then the door creaks open and Violet pokes her head out, face already red. “This is the part where you’re probably going to laugh.” A pause. “You’re not laughing.”

“I think I’m too shocked to laugh,” Clementine says. “But close your eyes.”

“Uh. What?”

“Close your eyes.”

Violet leers at her with uncertainty before she does as she’s told. Clementine smiles and leans forward, planting a soft kiss onto Violet’s cheek. She quickly pulls away to see Violet jerk in surprise, her eyes flying open in red-faced bewilderment. 

“That’s my thank-you.” Clementine grins, hugging the drawing close to her chest. “This is totally better than _my_ promposal. I’m gonna frame this on my wall and call it Violet Van Gogh’s masterpiece, because it’s a drawing of me!”

Violet laughs incredulously, shaking her head still in disbelief. “I’m - Clem, you really are full of surprises.” 

“I could say the same to you.”

Violet smiles, her eyes skirting to the side rather bashfully. But when she looks back at Clementine, there’s something different in her gaze - determination. Courage. “Clem, I - “

The both of them flinch at the sound of shrill yelling from inside the cottage, courtesy of Nana’s cantankerous disposition from being awake before her alarm clock. Violet grimaces as her grandmother starts shouting in Italian; Violet heaves a deep sigh and scratches her head. 

“Guess that’s my cue. Gran’s no fun in the morning when you disturb her sleep. Jesus fuck.” Violet looks behind her shoulder and yells something back in the same language. She turns back to Clementine with an apologetic look. “I’ll see you at school?”

Clementine laughs. “Yeah. I’ll see you at school, Vi.” 

Violet smiles. She shuts the door and Clementine can’t help grinning as she’s leaving the front entrance. She holds the drawing in her hands with gentle fingers, scared of creasing it more than it already is, and is intent on framing it on her wall. 

Halfway back home, Clementine comes to a gradual halt and glances around her shoulder, remembering a detail that was pushing against her mind - Violet’s mustering of courage before Nana interrupting them.

The morning larks sing in the distance. Clementine wonders what Violet had wanted to say.

**Author's Note:**

> i was listening to bad sun's "violet" and oh boy is it Fitting
> 
> im also on tumblr @ sunnastreo :'>


End file.
